God gives to all mortals life and breath and all things…
         so that they would search for God
         and perhaps grope for God
         and find God—
         though indeed God is not far from each one of us.
                  —Acts 17.25, 27

Disregard the patron Saint of Confidence.
Never mind the ones who nod knowingly,
as if looking at the blotty picture saying,
“Seriously, don’t you see the cow?”
Their smugness is their idol. Ignore it.

You were not created to know, not destined
for certainty. You are created to search,
groping in the light, reaching out
through the thicket of your moments,
wondering, wanting more, hungering.

God doesn’t want people who are finished,
trophies hanging on the wall. God wants—
wants, like we want, groping, perhaps finding—
hunters who are still seeking, explorers,
children of wonder and blessed unknowing.
        
In reaching out you expand your world.
In groping you open yourself. In not knowing
you allow God to exceed all bounds.
In searching you stay alive. Let your worship
be the praise of unfinished embraces,

of pauses in conversations. Let unknowing
be your sanctuary. And oh, as you flail,
like an infant not knowing the finger you grasp,
how God, so close, loves the touch of your probing,
and holds your wandering hand.

 

                  —May 22, 2014

 

Great God,
in whom
I Am,
whose being is
all Being:
Be
in me.

Dear Christ,
near whom I am,
thou breath of nearness:
do not leave me,
but my Mother be.

O Spirit,
truth of God,
and truth of me:
be thou my life,
that all my living be
but thee.

—May 21, 2014

 

          The Spirit of truth, whom world does not know or see,
                  abides with you, and is in you.
         I will not leave you orphaned.
         I am in God, and you in me, and I in you.
                  —John 14. 17, 18, 20

I just returned from a week in which I saw a lot of family: two sons and a girlfriend and sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law and nieces and nephews. They are dear to me; even though we live thousands of miles apart and rarely see each other, they have a place in my heart. I love them and, in a way, I carry them around with me.

There is a Love, a Presence, in whom we live, and who loves us and holds us and carries us around, to whom we are important, and dear, and a source of delight. It is sometimes hard to imagine, because we can’t see with our eyes or hug with our arms, but it’s true. It’s no easier to imagine a solar system held together by the force of gravity that works over millions of miles, even though I can’t see that, either. But it’s true. We are not orphaned.

Jesus repeatedly invites us to shed the illusion that we are alone, that we are isolated individuals. We are part of the life of the Holy One, who lives in us, and we are part of each other. Near or far, seen or unseen, we are connected, we are claimed, we are accompanied. Trust that among those loved ones whom you hold dear in your heart, there is One who holds you, to whom you are a source of delight, One who is not far away at all, but with you, and even within you.

Meditate on this mystery, that you are held and loved and accompanied and gathered and made one. Let this mystery surround you, breathe deeply of it and let it fill you with life, and give thanks.

                    —May 20, 2014

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
I’m going to take a break from Unfolding Light for a week. I love writing this; it’s part of my morning prayer routine. And I know it’s something that others count on. But for that very reason it’s a good thing to stop every once in a while. It reminds both me and you that we can survive without this.

At a meeting at church recently the leader asked us, “What do you long for?” One response was, “Four days without anybody needing me.” I thought, “That’s what the Bible calls Sabbath.” Sabbath is not a requirement, not a list of things we can’t do. It’s freedom from having to do them. That’s hard for us to grasp in this culture in which we are addicted to busyness. Part of the addiction is the belief that we have to be useful, we have to be accomplishing something, we have to justify our existence. And Sabbath says, No, you don’t. You just have to be. Your worth in this world is not defined by what you do, even for those who really count on you. Ultimately what we need to be able to count on is not is that people serve us but that they are themselves. Sabbath is an invitation to be yourself and do nothing else, even for a little while.

Dare to make sabbath time for yourself—for yourself—a little bit each day, each week, each month. Trust that this radical act of self-emptying is actually for God. God commanded the Sabbath not to get us to follow rules, but for our sake: to give us permission to be ourselves without any requirements, without anybody needing us to do anything. Sabbath is freedom, and God wants nothing more than for us to be free, and to be ourselves.        

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 unfoldinglight8(at)hotmail.com

You, the voice that I know
because you know me,

because you call me by my name,
the unsaid name you gave me,

voice of silence, speak.
Utter me into myself.

Shepherd of my soul,
lead me into my body.

Lead this kept sheep
out of my want.

Through this death-shadowed valley
bring me with you.

I obediently follow
to perfect freedom.

Out of the sheepfold
comes a flock of love.

                              — May 9, 2014

 

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
There are a couple thousand of you. I only know a few.
But you whom I do know, I always think of you as I write,
sometimes quite individually. Some of you are thousands
of miles away, and I can’t know what your day was like
yesterday, what hopes or dreads awoke with you today.
But I close my eyes and think of you, and I write. And if I,
who am riddled with fears and desires and cowed by my
sad, desperate ego, can think of you even this little, how
much more the One who is closer to you than your blood,
who knows why the tears comes to your eyes before you
begin to feel, who loves you so madly as to surrender
the whole universe to be with you, even at your foulest—
how much more the Beloved holds you close, and does
nothing without the deepest mindfulness of you. How
much more lovingly the Beloved looks at you, turns the
page to a new day, smiling quietly, and begins to write.

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 unfoldinglight8(at)hotmail.com

        
         The sheep follow
         because they know the shepherd’s voice.
                  —John 10.4

Ignore the hubbub within,
the sales pitches and the rants,
the thrilled anxiety of lurking disaster,
the voice of the displeased father,
the unhappy mother,
the fearful voices that remind you
how you should fit in and don’t,
what you have to do and can’t,
who you ought to be and won’t.

Don’t listen to that rush of that traffic,
the chanting of those crowds.

Listen beneath the clamor
to the quiet, gentle voice
of One who knows you,
who walks with you,
who accepts your pains
and cherishes your wondering
and bears your deepest longing,
who does not need for you to know
or believe or prove,
but honors who you are
and believes in who you are becoming.

Listen for the voice of One
who gives voice to you when you cannot,
who loves you for your sake alone,
yet gathers you into a blessed flock,
the quiet voice that rises from deep within,
as naturally as grass in springtime,
the sun in the morning,
the voice of love, not fear.

Listen for the voice of the Beloved
and follow that one alone
into this day,
into the gift of your life.
    

                  —May 7, 2014

 

Dry bunch grass. Sand.
No path, just wideness, and dirt.
Or narrowness, and shadows.
Rocks, rough, rough rocks.
No way, no way to see
the way.

Valley where death
is solid enough
to have a shadow.

You know me, and
this valley, and where
to find me in it.

Gentle shepherd,
I need your voice. I need
your quiet call. I need
your gentle going:
no drama, no crying out,
just walking,
soft footfall in barren soil.

I will follow.
I don’t see a path, can’t yet
make out the green pasture.
Just follow your feet
on rocky ground.
Just follow your voice.
It is so soft

it’s only here in the barrens
that I hear it.

Beloved,
As I travel among the suffering I always reach into my little golden bag of prayers that you give me and I give them one. They can’t always tell, but I can see that it makes a difference. Thank you for those prayers. The wonderful thing is, they never run out. Isn’t that cool?

Give my love to everyone there.

Love,
God.

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

To subscribe to Unfolding Light by daily e-mail write to unfoldinglight5(at)hotmail.com

While they were walking along, talking,
Jesus himself came near and went with them,
but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.

Beloved, you have walked with us in our journeys.
Help us to trust your presence, even when we cannot see.

They stood still and looked sad.
He asked them, “What things are you discussing?”

You have entered into our sorrows.
We thank you for your healing.

He interpreted to them the scriptures.

So much in our lives does not make sense
except in light of your loving presence.
Give us wisdom rooted in your grace.

They urged him to stay.

Something in us desires you,
reaches out for you, invites you in.
Come, enter, and share the bread of this life.

He took bread, blessed, it broke it, and gave it to them.

Bless our lives with your gratitude,
your faithful, unseen presence
and your loving purpose,
gather us into your Body,
break our hearts for the world,
and give us to your children in hope and joy.