Do not be conformed to this world,
                  but be transformed by the renewing of your minds,
         so that you may discern what is the will of God—
                  what is good and acceptable and perfect.
                           —Romans 12.2

Society presses upon you to copy
dress and manner, thought and value,
what will anger or attract you.
Ignore it. It’s fear whining for company.
It’s a shield against celestial radiation.
Tune out the market’s frantic clatter.
Be changed by a new way of thinking:
not thinking: an opened awareness,
a mind of wonder and gratitude
and the strangeness of being loved.
Conform to nothing but the grace of God.
Each moment the Mysterious Blessing
dawns in you, allows a newness,
sings a song their ears can’t hear.
Let the Great Love in you make harmony.
The tune is already there,
the ear and the voice.
Let it meld in perfect harmony.
Passersby will hear songs from your door,
from the woods rises music
that’s lovely, good and beautiful,
the delight of God.
 

                           —August 24, 2017

Beloved, we are all one in this.
The Spirit is yearning in you,
the mercy of God birthing in you.
Give all of yourself to God,
not just your mind:
your hands and eyes,
your breath and loins,
your hungers and your energies,
your skin and its secrets,
your frailties and weaknesses
and their graces.
Put yourself on the line,
your meat and bone.
Burn yourself up on the altar of God,
given over entirely,
every word and every move,
a living, complete dedication to God.
Trust that you are perfect for God:
a holy, gift, delightful to God.
All your worship in pew and in private
is prelude to this:
today your body is the vessel of God.

                           —August 23, 2017

Who knew it would be so like
looking into the human soul,
the wonder and mystery,
the light and dark so mingled,
each made glorious by the other,
the awe at how one can overcome
and the other relent
for a while—
and how unlike,
this celestial dance
laid out since the beginning,
while your next shining or obscuring
is now and always,
unknown until you make it,
a choice.

                           —August 22, 2017

Womb of light
from whom we shine,
but whom we cannot see
but by looking away,
only the unseen hides you,
eye of darkness,
ring of light,
mystery of day’s bright night.
We too are you, eclipsed.
Let our horror of losing you remain.
What conceals you
reveals you, but only
the merest edges of your flaming face
we can never see straight on.
We gaze anyway
at light and dark
strangely embracing.
The light is changed.
We look through a glass darkly,
we stare down at pages oddly lit,
we close our eyes to see.
We walk through the rest of our day
and even into the befriended night
looking, seeing, changed.

                           —August 21, 2017

Thou,
Holiness,
One,
in morning stillness
I walk among you.
From dark earth beneath
you branch out above me.
From dark space beyond
you shine down among us.
In darkness hidden deep
your invisible angels
of bug and fungus fashion glory,
working their feast of rot and fermentation,
your millioned resurrections.
Your trees and I breathe each other,
in and out.
They branch out in me.
I breathe in them,
each breath a hymn.
I move through you,
the holy space between us;
the air of you is charged
with light, with birds, with praise.
Our flights are song,
our greenness is praise,
even our stones,
         being,
                  praise,
their silence your purest praise.
I waken to my belonging.
How could we
         — even I—
ever stop
                  — even in death—
praising you?

                           —August 7, 2017

         Jacob was left alone;
         and a man wrestled with him
                  until daybreak.
                                    —Genesis 32.24

You and your angel
are perfectly matched,
         neither winning nor losing.

It doesn’t matter
with what or whom you wrestle;
         you have to wrestle.

You have to be brought
to the limit of your power
         to know, beyond it, God’s.

You and God cheek to cheek,
that’s when the blessing comes,
         the letting go, and you limp free.

You still have to face your troubles,
but the hard part is over.
         You’re already blessed.

                           —August 4, 2017
 

         Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak…
         Then he said, ‘Let me go, for the day is breaking.’
         But Jacob said, ‘I will not let you go, unless you bless me.’ 
                  —Genesis 32.24, 26

The angels you’ll have to wrestle with most often
are no strangers:
they’re your anger, fear, control, defensiveness,
your despair, blame, insecurity, avoidance.
You won’t get away without a fight.

They may also be God’s forgiveness,
the Beloved’s absolute acceptance,
God’s serenity in the face of your betrayal,
God’s accompaniment in your troubles.
You won’t accept them without a fight.

You’re not wrestling with what’s happening;
you’re wrestling with your feelings about it:
not the problem but its difficulty,
not the suffering but how you take it personally.
The angels are not your world, but your self.

So wrestle. Grab them firmly.
Feel their breath on your neck,
their body against yours,
the weight of their intent.
Let your sweat mingle.

Learn their moves.
They’re your sparring partner,
not out to destroy you
but to shove you into the face of God.

Who knew divine intimacy
could be so hard?
 

                                ―August 3, 2017

         The disciples came to him and said,
         “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late;
         send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages
         and buy food for themselves.”
         Jesus said to them, “They need not go away;
         you give them something to eat.”
                  —Matthew 14.15-16

You want to send them away,
the moment’s multitudes,
demands that throng,
the insurmountable.
You do—don’t you sometimes?—
want to send them away.

You want to send away the crowds, the others
whom you can—can’t you?—ignore.
But you are to feed them.
You are here for their sake.

Where does that voice come from
that says, “Hopeless,”
that says, “The vault of God is empty?”
It is not from the Beloved.

The universe branches out in you.
Unseen as the salt of the ocean, the heat of the day,
the power of God looms inside the air before you,
abides in your seemingly empty hands.
Open them.
You can channel the abundance of God.

You are a door.
You can trust, though you can hardly imagine,
what lies behind you.

___________________
Weather Report

Profusion,
as your own narrows
give way to the broad sky of grace.

                                     ―August 2, 2017

          Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak.
          When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob,
          he struck him on the hip socket;
          and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him.
          Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.”
           Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.”
                  —Genesis 32.24-26

The pain, the problem, the struggle,
the wound, the weakness, the “disability”—
don’t let it go until you have found the blessing.

The thing you hate:
your hate is a way of hanging on—
because it still has something for you,
a new birth it is trying to give you.

The angel is usually not out there,
but within.
(Remember you’re not wrestling with tragedy,
you’re wrestling with God.
Though every loss is a lesson,
God does not assign pedagogical tragedy.)
The awful event, the terrible loss,
the insult or injustice you’ve suffered,
is not likely a blessing,
but there is one there.
Watch how you resist it,
and learn instead.
Don’t seek the fight; seek the blessing.
You can’t forget, move on, grow up,
you can’t get wise
until you have sought and gotten the blessing.

In that moment your suffering will re-name you
and walk away.

Let the crowd’s hunger be an opening for grace
and the loaves and fish will multiply.

Don’t let go
till you get the blessing.

                                                ―August 1, 2017

This is a hospital.
We are all wearing flimsy, ugly johnnies,
maybe closed at the back, maybe not.
Everybody’s wearing them,
doctors, staff, chaplains, owners.
No nice suits on this planet.
We’re all recovering,
all wearing little blue johnnies.
So get over how silly you look. We all do.
Just focus on getting better.

And that one in the way,
shuffling through the hallway of your life
with his little tree of emotional IV’s,
give him some slack.
You have no clue what a miracle is is
for him to stand.
Don’t you wonder what his story is?
Besides, you’re no ballerina yourself.

Close your eyes.
You’re both
beautiful stars in the sky of God.

                           —July 31, 2017