God, why are you so often
like the dream I know I had
but can’t remember?

Is it enough to know
you are there
beneath the darkness
of my mind
still dreaming?

Is it enough to believe
in the mountain
because a great bear
I cannot see
wanders its dark sides
and finds sweet berries?

Is it enough to know
the bear sniffs the air
and smells me,
and later in her cave
dreams of me?

   —January 22, 2018

         The Spirit of God is upon me,
         because God has anointed me          
         to bring good news to the poor.
         God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
         and recovery of sight to the blind,
         to let the oppressed go free,
         to proclaim the year of God’s favor.
                  —Luke 4.18-19

Fill me, Spirit.
Fill me with the grace that is good news
for all who are poor.
Fill me with compassion for those who are captive
in body or in soul.
Grant me eyes of love,
with which to open eyes that are blind.
Set me free with freedom that will set others free.
Give me courage to to pray, to bear witness,
to speak, to act for justice.
Holy Spirit, let my life in every moment
proclaim your grace.
Amen.

   —January 21, 2019

         “You have kept the good wine until now.”
                  —John 2.10

You have run out of wine,
but Jesus doesn’t believe in running out.
Forget all that”we don’t have enough.”
Have some more.

You have huge vats for purification,
as if it’s going to take a lot
to wash off all your crud.
Jesus doesn’t think so.
Forget all that “I’m not good enough.”
A toast.

It’s a wedding— which everything
seems to be to Jesus, a feast of faithful love.
He looks pretty loose after that last glass,
as if he’s about to propose.

Scholars swirl the wine and think Eucharist,
woman at the well, water gushing up in you,
blood and water from his side, baptism—
but they’ve lost him.
He’s gazing at you.

Serious theologians read the signs
like tea leaves, proven by the miracle,
but the Beloved looks past them
and catches you with his soft eyes:
“Hey. Wanna dance?”

___________________
Weather Report

Fine,
full-bodied weather,
dense and earthy         
but with a slightly sweet touch,
warming late in the day.
It will go well with hard work,
indoors our out,
or quiet reflection,
but perfectly paired with
abundant, grateful celebration.

   —January 18, 2019

The promise of the banal,
the dull and unremarkable,

the dark wine hidden
in the clear, regular jar,

in the plain and the pained
the beautiful and life-giving,

stars in the night
and the silence ripe with song,

what wasn’t even meant for drinking
become the finest drink,

the hopeless afternoon
impossibly made brilliant,

what lack already may be
made an abundance,

the first Word that turned
the dark light,

is in your plain chipped cup,
God swirling, sea-dark, intoxicating,

and has turned.
You haven’t tasted it yet.

   —January 17, 2019

Attend to those who are silenced,
seen and not heard,
told “Don’t cry,”
threatened into muteness.
Listen to the pain we can’s stand
the story we don’t want to hear,
the truth we avoid.

We who hold the microphone
will do well to be quiet
and hear the voice of the silenced,
and give the oppressed an audience.

Justice cries out;
righteousness listens,
and hears the voice of God.

   —January 16, 2019

         A voice came from heaven,
         “You are my Child, the Beloved;
         with you I am well pleased.”
                  —Luke 3.22

You are baptized
into Belovedness,
bathed in divine delight.

It washes away all else,
your other names, other selves,
all that is not your holiness.

Your work is no more than this,
to trust your Belovedness,
to return to it, to receive it.

All evil springs
from the distrust
that we are the Beloved.

Immersed in this grace,
you breathe in the world,
you breathe out heaven.

Baptized into the Body of Christ,
you are the flesh of God’s love,
living as if on fire.

The whole world sings in you.
You belong to us all.
A great bird rises up,

calling for its mate,
singing with beauty,
crying out in joy.

—January 9, 2019

God,
when I feel like I’m riding a leaky canoe
in raging whitewater
with a broken paddle,
help me remember
you are my strength,
you are my peace,
you are my breath.
You are the river.

I am only in this moment,
not occupying the whole day.
I am responsible for my attitude,
not for the world.
I do not need to be a hero,
only present, only
transparent to your love.

Heart of peace, beat in me.
Breath of love, breathe in me.
Eyes of grace, open wide.

   —January 8, 2019

You know how a smile can change you,
how a single stranger’s smile,
even a small one,
can light your day.
What a gift, to be smiled at.

The universe sees you,
and your smile
changes it.
What a gift,
to smile at the world.

As we look up at stars,
the stars look up at us,
and see us smile,
and they smile.
What a gift, to know
why God has put you here.

   —January 7, 2019

         The Word became flesh and lived among us.
                  —John 1.14

On the eleventh day of Christmas
I feel the stretch.
Presents unwrapped, put away,
family gone, New Year’s past,
resolutions already broken…
and here we are, still counting days.
That one bright night,
angels and candles and all,
was not a singular event, but a lasting truth.
God, you are not just passing through.
You are here for the long haul:
the chemo regime,
the enduring grief,
the extra year of school,
the parenting that never ends,
the long work of aging.
Give me courage.
Give me perseverance, to last,
to go the distance
on the long road to wisdom,
to healing, to justice, to joy.
Help me trust you are here,
all the way.

   —January 4, 2019

         Magi came, asking, “Where is the child?”
                   —Matthew 2.1-2

I will be your wise one,
led by wisdom and discernment,
your star, not mine.

I am a sovereign of my own choices,
among your royal priesthood.
I offer you my power.

You are the star I follow,
with my eye on your light
every day.

I am always seeking,
never too complacent to ask,
to observe, to discern, to wonder,

looking for your light in this world,
in those I meet,
in my own dark sky.

I am not deterred by weariness,
the unknown, the strangeness,
the settledness of others.

I seek the child, the tender,
the hope, the small
amid the strong and violent.

I bear valuable gifts. This is the reason
I am in this world. I kneel
and offer treasure, every day.

I know my quest threatens
the powers of might, and I am not afraid,
and do not collude with them.

I am not afraid to find another road,
always seeking, open to the new.
Lead me.

   —January 3, 2019