They drove him out of the town,
             and led him to the brow of the hill,
             so that they might hurl him off the cliff.
             But he passed through the midst of them
             and went on his way.
                                      —Luke 4.29-30


He didn’t argue with them,
didn’t fight or outsmart them,
made no clever ninja moves.

In the arms of the breeze
at the cliff edge,
light falling like rain,

before they did something stupid
he gave himself to them fully,
forgiving them already,

which raised a question
that doused their shouting,
that spoke a silence

that cut through their first-stone piety,
that passed through to their midst,
their center,

and finally
they were not
so sure of themselves,

which was not so much
his salvation
as theirs.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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and inconsequential
         I look at my hands.
                  What they have done through the years
is not there,
         it is woven into the warp of history.
                  Generations hold those things now,
hold me.
         I am among them.
                  I am all of them.

I take a breath:
         the sky breathes into me
                  and out of me, I am sky.
My breath leaves me,
         as if I am dead and buried,
                 I am earth.
I am not small,
         I am the whole world,
                  in my part of it.

The heart of Creation beats in me,
         the DNA of the universe
                  furled in the cell of me,
the whole Body present
         in the hand I am,
                  I, the song that contains the world.
Myself is tiny, But I,
         I am vast, if I listen, the whole Mystery
                  in the Word of me.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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             When they heard Jesus,
             all in the synagogue were filled with rage.
             They got up, drove him out of the town,
             and led him to the brow of the hill
             so that they might hurl him off the cliff.
                         —Luke 4.28-29


When you are held in the relentless grip
of mercy, you are relentlessly merciful.

To the unmerciful
nothing is more frightening.
They will inflict upon you
their unmercy.

But be at peace.
Even as they lead you to the edge of the cliff,
they cannot destroy you.
You are held in the hands
of the One Who Is Mercy.
If your heart is open,
despite their cruelty
all you will know
is mercy.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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             There were many widows in Israel,
             yet Elijah was sent to none of them
             except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon.
             There were also many lepers in Israel
             and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.
                         —Luke 4.25-27

Even our religion is selfish:
we expect it to favor us above all others.

But Jesus opens our eyes to the last who are first,
while we who think ourselves first, get in line.

This is not mere comeuppance,
it’s his insistence that “we” are all of us,

not just some of us.
There are no outsiders, except by our selfishness.

The gospel is most of all for those farthest from God,
and for that part of you most distant.

When God visits the foreign widow in you,
you love the one who lives elsewhere.

When the Beloved blesses what is alien in you
you are merciful toward all who are alienated.

You are saved: not lifted from among the masses,
but returned to them.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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Baruch Ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, Dayan HaEmet.

We remember you,
resting now in the presence of the Holy One:
the six million in Europe,
whose deaths we are sure we would never have allowed.

We remember you not because you are distinct,
but because you are not.

We remember you, the hundreds of thousands
in Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
whose deaths we would not have allowed,
except we needed them.

We remember you, the millions of Africans enslaved;
the millions of Native Americans
slaughtered, displaced and “assimilated,”
whose deaths we would never have allowed
except we did.

For a moment we remember those
whose deaths we count as unworthy to remember,
dying even now.

Haunt us, we pray:
teach us to see
before we have to remember.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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In the frozen field the stubble is no cover
from the wind’s teeth.
The snow is too frigid to squeak
though it winces a little.
The cold with its fingernails
reaches into you up to its knuckles.
I would welcome warmth, but first
we need this cold,
to kill the ticks and pine beetles,
to tamp the allergens, to balance things,
once it was to fill the ice houses,
still to skate and ski.
Good and cold.

It toughens you,
not only if you’re from Finland.
If repentance is a refining fire
maybe it’s ice, too:
the six-bladed knives of truth
cutting soul from spirit, joints from marrow,
the shimmering halo of frost
that outlines everything you do so you can’t miss it,
the way you find out what keeps you warm
and what fails. Struggling with a zipper or a key,
the humility of being weak and fragile.
And the weather report that one day you will be
irretrievably cold, and still as ice.
And maybe also the deep forgetfulness of snow
that forgives and beautifies everything
(a grace not cheap, with all that shoveling).
The cold creeps in, murmuring
that all heat is a gift from beyond.
Just think. Out here even the warmth
of your plain, dumb body could save a life.


________________
Weather Report

Cold,
with raging fires.
Expect drought and floods,
day and night,
which also,
like all of us,
will pass.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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Under a darkening sky
she kneels on pleading earth

and digs with fragile fingers
into soil that does not complain

but offers itself,
a little sacred womb of dirt.

The clouds turn ominous,
giddy with their disturbance,

thundering their hymns
of coming doom.

Shadows seep and spread
like oil from a leaky drum.

Late light lies low, but
it knows how to work though.

First flakes fall, rumors,
a storm’s campaign promises.

She keeps on, on one knee,
planting her heart in hope,

set not on what may be
but the seed that is now,

held in the soil, hidden
from ice’s passing curse,

knowing, as only earth knows,
a season yet to come.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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            ..to proclaim the year of God’s favor…
                                      —Luke 4.19

Jesus, reading from Isaiah, cuts the quote short.
He omits “the day of God’s vengeance.”

Speaking as the Chosen one of God,
he has taken it off the menu.

The only punishment inflicted
will be his own cross.

There is no payback, only kindness.
Even to the enemies of God there is only grace.

This, now, is the ”year”—the present—of God’s favor,
God’s radical, gentle delight.

Can we follow? Like a drunk abstaining,
will we forgo all cruelty, all vengeance?

Like David armorless facing Goliath,
will we trust the five smooth stones of love?

Soldiers have taken easier oaths.
Yet to be bearers of God’s favor alone,

to live lives only of mercy
the Spirit is upon us.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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             The Spirit of the Holy One is upon me,
                          because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.
             God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
                          and recovery of sight to the blind,
             to let the oppressed go free,
                          to proclaim the year of God’s favor.
                                      —Luke 4.18-19

It sounds like an inauguration speech:
economic policy, legal reforms, medical advances,
a liberation movement.
But it’s not public policy; it’s God’s grace.
Jesus has no political office or power or plans.
He lives, in fact, under brutal oppression
that will stay brutal for generations.
He’s not launching a campaign, but a ministry.
An insurrection of gentleness, a revolt of kindness.
It’s something you’re anointed for, not elected.

Even under the thumb of Caesar,
we live in the Empire of Grace.
It is we, not the emperor, who will do justice and love mercy.
Surely we will lobby, we will vote and advocate,
but we will not wait.
We ourselves will embody the coming of God’s favor.
Like Jesus, we may soon be hauled to the edge of a cliff;
like him, we will survive.

Those baptismal waters have anointed us
to be good news to the poor, to be release,
to be new sight, to be freedom,
to be God’s grace.
But not on our own: it is God who anoints us,
who does this work through us: the Spirit bears us on.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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For whatever transpires on this day…

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
           for to them is given the realm of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,
           for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the gentle,
           for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for right relationships,
           for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,
           for they will receive mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,
           for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
           for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of justice,
           for theirs is the realm of heaven.
             

                         —Matthew 5.3-10

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