Tall ships sail the November sky.
Brown leaves run from the wind,
hide behind stone walls.
A half moon backs up into the sky
to see if it can make it all the way across.
I notice.

Curtis is in prison.
I’m thinking of lots of people in prison,
some for being black or gay or angry or truthful.
A mother clings to her child in a UN tent,
a girl is hauled out of the dark room again.
All those: in treatment, getting a transplant,
Parkinson’s, depression, divorce just finalized.
I see you.

Spirit stirring in me, my new self,
my regrettable outburst, my forgiveness,
the grace given, the opening, the bud,
my horizon still moving on,
those who come with me.
I know.

I hear there’s something
at the mall
but I see nothing there,
nothing.

It’s all elsewhere.
It’s all here.
                

   —November 24, 2017

You who are the Mystery at the heart of all things,
Source of all that is,
to you we give thanks.
For the gift of Creation, and the wonder of this world,
we thank you.
For for every creature and the web of all living things
to which we belong, we thank you.
For the gift of life, and the miracle that we are here today,
we thank you.
For gifts of sight and hearing, the gift of movement and touch,
and for all the wonders that we behold, we thank you.
For all the people who have blessed us, we thank you.
For all our loved ones, for any who have taught us, helped us,
loved us, accompanied us or prayed for us, we thank you.
For the food we eat, and all those around the world who provide it,
we thank you.
May our gratitude overflow to others,
especially those who do not have what we do;
may our thanks take form in giving
and in working for the world you intend for us.
O God, fountain of our souls and earth of our lives,
we thank you,
and pray that we may always live in humility, gratitude and joy.
Amen.

   —Thanksgiving Day, 2017

         I myself will judge between the fat sheep and the lean sheep.
                  —Ezekiel 34.20

God notices our injustice,
and despises it.
God sees our systems that favor some
and exclude others;
it is God whom we exclude.

The Realm over which Christ reigns
is no heaven in the clouds,
but this trodden earth,
this very place where we foul the water
of our companion sheep,
this world which Christ will dismantle
and rebuild, re-make like the potter and her clay.

To be loyal subject of this Sovereign
it will not be enough to doff our hats
and hurt each other. Piety will not suffice.
The divine passion for the others
will rule our hearts and actions,
lead us from prayer to justice,
enlist us in the royal work of the new Realm.

The fat sheep like it as it is.
The lean sheep are remaking the world.

   —November 22, 2017

         [Ezekiel 34.15-16]

The diagnosis, the procedure,
the boss’ memo, the suicide,
the lonely corridor.
         I will shepherd you.

The God who vanished into a question,
the way you can’t find,
the path through the tangled thorns.
         I will seek the lost.

Addicted, shamed, incarcerated,
unforgiven, violent,
over-busy, despairing.
         I will bring back the strayed.

Memory of abuse, ache of loss,
heart a cracked empty jar,
forty pound bag of fear.
         I will bind up the injured.

The difficult meeting,
the ones who wound,
your daughter’s treatment.
         I will strengthen the weak.

How much longer can you do this?
How will it end?
How do you know?
         I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep.

         I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep.

   —November 21, 2017

When you are in a dark place
and you want to get out of it,
remember that life is not somewhere else,

but where you are.
The story may or may not be
that you quickly escape.
But the story surely is that God is with you
where you are.
Before you leap toward the escape hatch,
be where you are.
Notice. Look around, even in a dark room,
and see God there
before you leave.
 

               
—November 20, 2017

         “I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.”
                  —Matthew 25.25

Whoever you meet
probably has treasure
hidden within,

riches from God
they have buried
in fear.

Those of whom you disapprove—
you notice their annoying,
self-serving behavior,

but do you notice
the treasure? Do you
notice the fear?

Fear of what is demanded,
fear of being inadequate,
of being judged, of being used?

Everyone you meet
is a nervous treasure chest
searching for their own key.

What can you do
to treasure the treasure,
to steady their hand?
             

   —November 17, 2017

         “I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.”
                  —Matthew 25.25

God, what coin of you
         is buried in me?
What gifts have you given me
         that I have interred,
         rolled a stone over?
What skill or passion, grace or yearning,
         have I hidden away in fear?
What is the breath of your Spirit in me
         that I neglect?

What is the fear that binds me?
         What am I afraid of?

Is it real?

What if I were to spend myself for you,
         to put your treasure in me to use?
         What would that be like?

Would you, the Giver of My Life,
         not be pleased?

Beloved,
         lend me your shovel.
 

   —November 16, 2017

         To one the merchant gave five talents, to another two,
         to another one, to each according to their ability.
                  —Matthew 25.15

Maybe this is a story about investing
your God-given gifts in the world,
no matter how small, for the sake of God’s desires.

And since a talent is like a million dollars,
there is no such thing
as a small amount in this story.

Maybe it’s about the power of fear,
power that makes us hide our gifts,
thinking them small, though they aren’t,

and about how a story may be about generosity and joy
until fear enters the picture, when the tale suddenly turns
to lies and selfishness and punishment.

Maybe it’s about how fear makes us judge others,
like the fearful servant saying awful things
about the merchant who just gave away 8 million bucks.

Maybe it’s about how we fret about our “stuff,”
and whether it’s enough, and what may be demanded of us,
forgetting it’s not ours. It’s God’s.

Maybe it’s about how the rich get richer
and expect people on the bottom
to comply, to play along, to feed the machine.

Maybe it’s about parables, and how
the more you open yourself to them the more you receive,
but you have to give the meaning away to get it,

and if you try to get it right,
and bury the meaning safe and sound,
you will be weeping and gnashing your teeth

because the meaning is not yours
but if you share the riches
the joy will be.
 

   —November 15, 2017

Sunrise and its gold,
a single kiss,

the sea that never tires
throwing its beauty at you,

trees scattering jewels,
stars saying their prayers

by candlelight
in their little houses—

such loveliness,
such precious coins.

You can’t say what they’re worth,
there is no measuring them

any more than the one you are,
little star among millions,

generous, infinite Talent
unburied,

mere single radiant
sun.
 

   —November 14, 2017

Why long
for that other place

suffused with with music
and beauty,

that God-soaked world,
when we haven’t begun

and hardly know how
to endure

this
one?

   —November 13, 2017