As they were watching, he was lifted up,
            and a cloud took him out of their sight
                           —Acts 1.9

The Beloved has not gone
up so much as out,
risen now not into one flesh
but all.

The lilacs I smell every morning
have faded; their song has gone out,
has gone out,
and it sings to me everywhere.

By your Spirit
I would pass out of this flesh
and disappear into my love
for all the world.

___________________
Weather Report

Release,
as love-laden air
condenses at times
into showers of mercy
and evaporates again
into the atmosphere.

                           —May 23, 2017
 

Gratitude, the yoga of the gods,
may sometimes take a little practice.
Each day, select one thing to be grateful for:
a cup of water, a wisp of green,
sun on stone, a friend’s memory,
gravity, so we do not float away….

Hold your gratitude like a seashell in your hand,
and rehearse it. Come to it new again
and feel the surprise, like water colder
than you thought, or warmer.

Each day add to the things
you allow yourself to tumble into gratitude for,
until you become grateful for everything,
for the rust on the lock, the sun on the broken glass,
the silence after the bird song,
for the grace hidden in ugliness,
for the Presence waiting in emptiness,
for the blessing enfolded in troubles.

Become universally and equally grateful
for everything, until your gratitude becomes
meaningless, as will your desires and expectations,
until none of that is real: only the seashell
you hold in your hand with unspeakable,
unshakable gratitude.

                           —May 22, 2017

 

Walk upwind in a fierce rain
            and understand hope.

Watch the river receive itself and give
            and know something about love.

Ponder a stone and its memories
            and know your belonging.

Witness the green shoot part the earth
            and see yourself.

Sit under one tree in many seasons
            and learn death’s other name.

Listen to the desert’s silences
            and let your heart fall open.

Behold a lilac surrender its scent
            and become wise.

Listen to the bird’s song
            and hear, hear your own.

No part of this realm disputes its belonging.
            Learn, and rejoice.

Let the ocean wear you down
            until you are sand and wind.

Lie on the earth for she will receive you,
            and remember, always.

You came from her, and she loves you wildly.
            Learn what she can teach you.

       

                           —May 19, 2017

            God made us … so that we would search for God
            and perhaps grope for God and find God—
            though indeed God is not far from each one of us.
            For “In God we live and move and have our being.”
                           —Acts 17.26-28

God, this darkness is discouraging.
I don’t know where this is headed.
This tunnel feels deathly, a grave.
I grope and I do not find.

But you are not a hermit hiding.
You are not a small being
You are Being, my being.
I am not far from you: I am in you.

This darkness is you.
The empty air I feel, the wall, is you.
Even my groping is you, moving in me.
Even my sorrow is your yearning.

Breath prayer: + Here … you are +

                           —May 18, 2017
 

            Always be ready to explain your hope
            to anyone who demands an account from you.
                        — 1 Peter 3.15

Be mindful of how God has acted with grace in your life. Be prepared in every moment to bear witness to God’s grace, for at any turn such accounting may be demanded of you — not by threatening inquisitors, but by thirsty beggars. Be attentive lest you miss the grace that passes before you, whether as small as a single birdsong or as broad as the rising sun of your own life restored. Be grateful, lest these pearls have been thrown to swine. And be ready to speak of it in the grandest or simplest words or deeds. You have not invented your own hope; it has sprung, green and living, from the grace that has rained upon you, has welled up from deepest springs, has come to you in steadfast rivers. Treasure this hope with the highest honor: not to hoard it, but to share. For at any moment you may be the one to offer such living water to one whose lips are parched, who in their thirst may act haughtily or even with anger, but whose heart thirsts for hope. Be ready. God’s grace is infinite, and it alone is the source of all our hope. Be ready, lest the miracle escape you.
         

             — May 17, 2017

             I will ask God, who will give you another Advocate,
             to be with you forever.
                           —John 14.16

Not a judge or prosecutor,
but a defense attorney.
I believe in you.
I see your beauty, your glory even,
better than you.
I will advocate for you
against those who accuse,
against every obstacle,
against the voice in your head
that says you’re not good enough.
I will counsel you
in every challenge and disappointment.
You don’t have to call for me;
I am here. Forever.
I will advocate for you
against your uncertainty,
your fear and shame,
for the sake of that person
that even to this day
is still hidden.
I am the Yes of God
within you.

Breath prayer:    +    Yes    …    within    +

                           —May 16, 2017
 

I have spent so much for this shell,
         this seed casing,
and then, safely contained,
         strained at the walls of my tomb,

while inside this little shell
         is the living I AM.
Beneath the stone
         is the light.

The little green leaves unfolding
         on the forest floor
in their unfurling are nothing
         like the seed.

Let me die—my little one, my “me”—
         and in death emerge into life,
into you, the wholeness of you,
         the river of you, never unflowing,

one with this earth and its breathing,
         its wind and tide and seasons,
these creatures who know me,
         these stars who sing my name,

and my sisters and brothers,
         my other selves
in this risen life,
         no longer grains but bread.

                           May 15, 2017

            You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood,
            a holy nation, God’s own beloved,
            in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts
            of the One who called you out of darkness
            into God’s marvelous light.
                           —1 Peter 2.9

Your being chosen isn’t a privilege; it’s a job.
It’s not a prize for your ego.
It’s ground for humility and gratitude.
It’s healing for your shame, your hopelessness.

Remember: what is your story?
What are God’s mighty acts in your life?
What was the darkness? What is the light?
Be amazed again. Dwell on that.

Now: how will you proclaim?
How are you called to be a priest of light?

+ God, may everything I do
proclaim your mighty acts
and shine with your light. +

                           —May 12, 2017

 

            I am in my Abba, and you in me, and I in you.
                           —John 14.20

Love is God.
God is the Lover and the Beloved
and the Love that flows between.

Love is infinite; all things exist in God.
Christ is the embodiment of love,
part of God and yet also an out-reaching.
You are God’s beloved,
and the embodiment of God’s love;
you are in God, and part of Christ;
God is in you, and part of you.

Of course this is confusing.
All is con-fused.
There is only one thing,
and you are in it.
It is love.
Be in it.

Breath prayer:     In    …    love

                           —May 11, 2017