Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
Among the untranslated words of our liturgy, Alleluia is dear. A word of love, a word of praise and joy, a word of gratitude for grace, a it can make a whole song all by itself. It’s a sweet, rich word. Of course, like all our words — like anything sweet and rich — it can be overused.

Sometimes, like junk food, our alleluias come and go too easily. We can sing alleluia out of desperation to feel good. We can sing alleluia in denial of the depth of the grace we’ve been given, and its cost. We can sing alleluia in denial of our deep sorrows, in denial of our suffering and the suffering we cause, of our sin, our terrors, our broken hearts and our guilt. Sometimes our alleluias are too easy, too self-satisfied, too self-centered. Not always. But, like sweet, rich food, they can be overused.

It’s not always time to party. Sometimes what we need to say is not alleluia, “praise the Lord,” but eleison, “have mercy.” Sometimes our alleluias fall silent in the face of injustice: the oppressed are not yet free, and it is not yet time to exult. Sometimes we need to fast from our glib happiness and tend to the sorrows of our hearts and of the world. We can’t have our alleluias on demand; sometimes we have to wait. We need to listen in silence to the cry of the cross, so that the Alleluia of resurrection means something.

So in Lent, as we fast from rich, sweet foods, we fast from our rich, sweet Alleluia. On Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras, in French) an old tradition is to use up all the fat — the milk, eggs and butter in the house (usually in pancakes). And we use up all the alleluias. A liturgical tradition for this day includes burying the alleluias, carrying a small casket out of the church and interring it, as we would for someone we love. It’s a tender moment.

Use up your alleluias today. Relish the word. Walk around singing it, saying it, praying it. Rejoice in being “shriven” — having confessed and been absolved (hence another name for today, “Shrove Tuesday”) — before you enter into a season when your freedom is still being worked out. Then tonight, bury your Alleluias. Kiss them goodbye. Wish them well. They will go down into the darkness, into the silence, to be drowned out by the moans and the cries. Let them go. They have infinite life in them. They will arise again on Easter, having seen Hell and transfigured it, and returned, singing.

But today do not worry yourself about the dark journey to come. This is the day the Lord is creating. Let us rejoice and be glad. Alleluia!
         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

         

Music of Life,
sing in me.

Heavenly rhythm,
dance in my heartbeat.
Beautiful voice of the universe,
sing in my breathing.

Every moment
I listen for your love song,
I move to it,
I live in harmony with it.

I am a note in your music.
Your whole symphony is in me.

In the dark places
where singing is not heard
I will sing.

Music of life,
God in me,

sing.

         
         

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

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
He was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!”
                  —Mark 9.3-7

Let go of what you knew,
and what you want to.
Your only shelter is this light.
There is only the radiant
granting of love in this moment.
In silence, the language of glory,
listen.

The Beloved does not speak.
He shines.
Listen.

With ears for love,
listen.

         
         

Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
Loose the bonds of injustice, undo the thongs of the yoke, let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke. Then your light shall break forth like the dawn.
         —Isaiah 58.6, 8

It is the God who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” who has shone in our hearts.  We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies.
         —2 Corinthians 4.6, 8-10

Jesus said, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” Six days later, Jesus was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.
                  —from Mark 8.32 – 9.6

When I’m weary or lost and my way is dim, those who shed light on my path and show me the way are not those who are comfortable and successful. The ones who rise as a light in the darkness and enlighten my heart are those who live with generosity and courage, who struggle with patience and suffer in love, who shelter the weak and defend the powerless, who sit with the lonely and keep vigil with the suffering, who stand up for justice and are in solidarity with the poor. They shine with joy amidst suffering and with the light of peace amidst other’s anxieties. They are the ones who pray for peace from behind bars, and whose loved ones are imprisoned, who face death with gentleness, who work for healing. They speak out on behalf of the ignored and exploited; they stand up for justice; they willingly face the callousness of systems and the anger of those who are entrenched in power and privilege. They are the ones who walk with abuse victims and work for justice for immigrants, who tend the dying, who care for the children no one wants, who endure grief without bitterness and love without reward. They are the ones who follow Jesus’ way of compassion and self-giving, who give of their lives for the sake of love and healing and justice. They give light to the world. They shine in my darkness; they illumine my way; they give my heart joy and courage like the rising of the sun. In the valley of the shadow of death, they glow with the light of resurrection, and I give thanks.

I pray that with them by God’s grace I may always behold God’s light and receive God’s grace, and shine with their hope for the healing of the world. And may you, God’s Beloved, shine with the light of God’s peace.  You are the light of the world.  Let your light so shine, that others may see, and glorify God.
       
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
        

 
He was transfigured before them,
and his clothes became dazzling white,
such as no one on earth could bleach them.
                  —Mark 9.2-3

The disciples were having no strange vision,
nor the evangelist concocting a tableau
for the delight of Renaissance painters.
It was simply this: for a moment
Jesus’ friends were seeing truly,
seeing him as he was,
seeing a human being as we all truly are,
shining with the whole glory of Creation,
stardust that we are.
They saw through the scruff and dirt
that this rough world leaves on us,
saw past the judgments and appearances,
the masks and costumes and shrouds
that we throw on each other:
they saw the heaven within a person,
the image of God.
If only they hadn’t been so shocked
they would have noticed it in themselves.
Jesus had to tell them later:
“You are light for the world.”
God shines in you,
gleams with the splendid light of heaven.
Beyond any smudge this world can put on you,
or any human word or deed can remove,
you are dazzling, radiant with newborn light.
Right now, sitting there reading this,
you breathe God’s light in and out.
Your nerves spark with life.
Your eyes light up the world.
Let this light fill you, the fire of God.
Be mindful of this radiance.
Look for the light in all whom you meet.
Trust the light. Give thanks for the light.
Even in your sleep, the light closes its eye,
but breathes deeply, calmly, faithfully.

________________
Weather Report

Light,
refracted from the rising Son,
increasing throughout the day
as it condenses within each living being,
until, even after nightfall,
all glimmers with wonder.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         

A hawk glides through the air,
they wrap their arms around each other,
the air carries the bird steadfastly,
deftly opens and closes its hands,
sending her along her way.

Frozen soil holds the slender seed tightly,
not crushing it, just waiting
for the great gentling, when her tender
root hairs will caress its dark questions
and they will change each other into green.

The ocean flings its ribbons on the shore
in joy at the creatures it is given.
The meadow treasures its grasses,
the planet built as a nest bit by bit
by the pure energy of attraction.

And you, walking along the street on your way
to something clicking away in the future,
picking your way among the unkind words,
the deserts and disappearances,
suspect no more than a sleeping child

that the Source of all that is delights in you deeply,
whose desire for you is your own heartbeat,
in passion who wraps your flesh around you,
wanting you forever. Let any pleasant thing,
the smallest breath, be your valentine.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         

I am reading in my study at the church. Next door in the parlor a women’s group is doing a bible study. I hear the sound of paper whispering, the heat register clicking, my breathing, the clock tapping its fingers on the bookshelf. Somewhere a door closes. Then through the gentle silence comes another sound: women’s voices, in deep and harmonious unison, rising and falling in brief phrases. I can’t hear their words through the wall, but I can tell by the cadence: they are praying the Lord’s Prayer together. The sound is like waves rolling onto a shoreline, rising and falling, utter and pause, utter and pause. It is like the breathing of the world. I breathe with it. The waves of prayer lay themselves on the beach, wave after wave. They join the sea of prayers, waves moved by all the world’s winds and all its movements, resounding across the ocean, touching every shore. They wash the world. They make it one, a single island surrounded by a sea of prayer. The final little splashes, “the kingdom and the power and the glory,” and there is silence. It is the whole universe’s ocean of silence. And the silence is deep and flowing, and it is in me, and it is full of dark, living mysteries, and I am not alone, and the world is alive.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean.
                  —Mark 1. 40-42

What do we mean by the healing that we pray for? Sometimes bodies are made well, disease is vanquished, hearts are mended, reconciliation happens, disaster is averted. And sometimes not: the condition continues, the pain stays, the brokenness persists, the marriage falls apart, the person dies. Sometimes the healing of an old sick person is their death, not their recovery. When obvious recovery doesn’t happen, is there still some kind of healing? If so, what is it? What is this healing we pray for?

I don’t know. But I do know that God’s will is only healing; God always chooses blessing. I know there s a deeper fabric to our lives than the state of our bodies, a deeper covenant we belong to than the human relationships we are in, a deeper reality than what we see. Maybe it’s our presence with God that is healed. Maybe we are re-integrated into the weave of life, gathered again into God’s grace, reconnected with God. Our suffering, whatever kind it is, tends to take all our attention and lead us to think of ourselves as isolated beings defined by our affliction. But in deepening our openness to God’s grace, we are re-rooted in the Beautiful Mystery that transcends our flesh and even our hearts; we are given life that runs deeper than pain or separation or even death.

Maybe our affliction, or the suffering of those we pray for, is transformed when we put ourselves in harmony with God’s loving presence, and even if nothing seems to change, it changes everything. Maybe deep trust in the unseen bond of life and grace opens up channels in us through which the power of that grace flows and changes people. Even as bodies fail, hearts break or relationships crumble, love prevails. We are connected with Infinite Life. Maybe what it means that we are healed is not that we feel better but that we belong.

I don’t really know. But I pray for healing. And I see it, even invisibly, happen.
         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         

A leper knelt, a mass of sores,
a sacrament of wounds confessed to God,
a soul with failing skin,
a fragile screen between the inner world
and all that lies beyond.

“If you are willing,” said the man,
renouncing self and choice and will.
“You can,” he said, forsaking “might”
or “won’t” or “ought” or “must.”

And Christ reached out and touched
his untouched hands, and laid an arm
around his blistered shoulders,
and with tender ease embraced him chest
to chest, and held a moment,
wide with grace, his seething flesh
in his, his trembling thirst, his failing hope,
his tears disguised as sweat,
his hidden loveliness, until
all flesh was one, all skin dissolved,
and that thin, deep abyss between them bridged,
two joined in mercy, healed in something
like a home.

He stood, and outwardly appeared
as inwardly he was: beloved,
whole, and blessed by grace
not gained but purely given,
free of worthiness, received,
and uncontained by flesh.
“Now go your way, and show yourself
to wondering priests,” Christ said,
“and let them close their eyes
and see true purity for once.”

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         

The Beloved beside me
and the Beloved within
call out to one another.

Which is the Holy One
and which the wanderer?

Ah, I will make them both
a cup of tea,

and we will sit,
the three of us,
without words

while they make eyes at each other.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

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