Unless you are born anew you cannot see the Realm of God.
         That which is born of spirit is spirit.
                  — John 3.3, 6

You cannot get life, earn it,
keep it, store it up like money.
It is breath, Spirit.

You receive it.
Then you release it,
and become open to receive again.

You cannot hold it.
You must receive it
as God gives it to you.

Let go of your life,
accomplishments and mistakes,
all you deserve — good and bad —

and instead receive it anew from God
in this moment,
a single breath.

Let your repentance
be simply to breathe,
to receive and let go.

All the things you have to do
and all the things you want to do
disappear into the breath.

It is a death and resurrection.
Let yourself disappear into the breath,
the spirit, and be born again.

Go slow enough to live in the breath,
to surrender the life you build and hoard,
and to live the life God gives you.

Falling and rising, your breath
is the gift of life from God,
made new in every moment.

Breathe gently.
Breathe deeply.
Breathe life.

 

         No one can see the Realm of God
         without being born again from above.
                           —John 3.3

God, birth me anew.
Let me start again.
I surrender everything to you:
my life, my aims, my will.
Start me over, fresh,
without guilt or shame or claims.
Let my life spring from you
and you alone,
you the divine flame
and me your light,
issuing from you new each moment.
I receive this glorious life you give me,
new and awkward and still learning.
Let me be vulnerable, a baby in your arms,
utterly dependent, helpless but for you.
Water of my flesh and spirit of my God,
birth me into this good world now
               and now
                                    and now…

 

Come to her.
Let her give you
the renewal of her body
as only she can,
point you where you’re headed
and let go.

Let her hold you in her lap,
all your scrapes and bruises,
your trinkets in your hands.

Let her do what you can’t,
let her grow you within herself

and with the pain of labor,
the dark, impossible passage,
birth you again
and give you to this bight, new world.

 

How do you know, they ask us,
so certain of their doubt.

We don’t. We are simply beckoned.
We are open, which is our knowing,
in wonder more than certainty,
a way of not knowing
with deep faith.
We lean toward a darkness
shining with a mysterious presence.

We merely know
with a knowing greater than our minds
that there is more.
We don’t have a name for that More,
just a longing, which is our knowing.
We know our food by our hunger,
our wonder a way forward.

A bond beyond our knowing
grows in us, a belonging
without a bottom, without end.
The darkness answers our question
with a question,
and we listen.
The Mystery beckons,
and we draw near.

 

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and peace to you.

          The devil took him to a very high mountain
          and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor;
          and he said to him, “All these I will give you,
          if you will fall down and worship me.”
          Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written,
          ‘Worship Yahweh your God, and serve God alone.’”
                           —Matthew 4.8-10

I confess: I seek a place in a world
that is not Thee.
I seek belonging in a realm of dislocation,
this world’s imaginary kingdoms.
I read the world’s opinion and believe it;
I covet the esteem of ignorance,
the delusion of my loyal subjects
upon the throne of elsewhere.

Teach me to be at home in you,
to rest my hand on a desert rock
until I see they are the same.
To float in the sea until I know
myself to be in you.
To walk among men and women
and know that they and I and you are one.

I abdicate my throne for you,
and here, bereft,
belong.

          Then the devil left him,
          and suddenly angels came
          and waited on him.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

To receive Unfolding Light as a daily e-mail,
write to me at unfoldinglight(at) gmail.com

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and peace to you.

         Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness
         to be tempted by the devil.
         He fasted forty days and forty nights,
         and afterwards he was famished.
         The tempter came and said to him,
         “If you are the Son of God, command these stones
         to become loaves of bread.”
         But he answered, “It is written,
         ‘One does not live by bread alone,
         but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”
                           —Matthew 4. 1-4

God, I confess
I want to turn these stones to bread.
I want to turn this prayer into piety,
this day, this life, into something else.
I want the power to make something
what it is not.

I will let the stone be a stone
and this moment be what it is,
and hunger hunger.
I let go of the illusion
of power to unmake what is
into what I wish.

Without judgment or willfulness
I will let each stone be its stone,
and most: myself what I am,
for only thus, not as I wish or fear,
but truly, do I know you as you are,
loving beyond my desire or imagination.

+

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

To receive Unfolding Light as a daily e-mail,
write to me at unfoldinglight(at) gmail.com

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and peace to you.

         Then the devil took him to the holy city
         and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him,
         “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down;
         for it is written, ‘God will command the angels concerning you,’
         and ‘On their hands they will bear you up,
         so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”
         Jesus said to him, “Again it is written,
         ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”
                           —Matthew 4.5-7

We want to survive.
Our ego craves security—
that what we think of as our “self” endures,
safe and free and whole in itself.
Pain and suffering press against that craving;
we don’t like them.
Mortality assaults our security; we fear and fight it.
We wish to be able to escape harm
(our superheroes can do it).
We’re afraid the world’s treatment of us,
our suffering and pleasure,
is a measure of our deserving.
Wrapped in our ego-cocoon,
we equate comfort with security
and security with being an enduring self.
But we do not endure separate from God.
We are just dirt rearranged—
except for God’s Spirit in us.
So rather than try to preserve the dirt
we choose to live by the Spirit.
Today someone will smear mud on our face
and tell us we are dust,
and to dust we shall return, no escape.
We are forgiven,
set free from the lie of “deserving,”
free to live by the power of the Spirit alone.
Rather then wanting to escape, alone,
we return, dust and all, to God,
who holds us tenderly
and re-creates us each breath,
this grace our only security.

Deep blessings,
Pastor Steve

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

To receive Unfolding Light as a daily e-mail,
write to me at unfoldinglight(at) gmail.com

Coming down from the holy mountain
we know we have not escaped the world’s darkness,
we’ve found how light is hidden here.

It was no different from the rest of our lives;
we just took the time to remove our sunglasses
and see for a change.

Even ordinary light is miraculous and holy.
Christ lives and shines with infinite love and divine glory
in our passing days of laundry
and crabby co-workers and scrubbing the kitchen table.

Give thanks for momentary glimpses
of the fullness of God’s glory,
but don’t stare at the sun.
Know it’s here,
and look for the light where you are.

A little girl waits for the bus,
singing a nonsense song to herself,
and stops, silent, staring at trees.
I swear, she casts shadows.