The Word became flesh and stayed with us;
           and we have seen the Word’s glory,
           favored and beloved as an only child,
           overflowing with grace, shining with truth.
                           —John 1.14


The Beloved walks among us.
The miracle is not on one holy night,
but in every created thing:
your Word takes on substance,
your love is embodied,
not a sentiment but an act,
not a wish but a creation,
your living child, begotten of love,
actual and real and forceful
and dwelling with us.
Every living being is holy.
This world brims with your goodness.
The Beloved walks among us.
Glory to you, O God,
and peace on earth.

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

           We know that the whole creation
                      has been groaning in labor pains until now…
           but if we hope for what we do not see,
                      we wait for it with patience.
                                 —Romans 8.22, 25

Mary, teach me, your gestational faith,
the courage of your patience,
to trust God’s slow, inexorable work.
God, give me strength to stand still
against anxiety’s shrill bustle
and the world’s flustered hurry,
and my own insistent urge.
In a world desperate to be saved
give me patience to wait,
to hope and wait,
to trust and wait.
For the goodness within,
like the holy child,
grows until the fullness of time.
God of the long run,
give me the patience of Mary.

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

Beloved, you who hold the universe
in tender arms, who cradle galaxies,
whose call in darkness birthed forth light at first,
look on us now as only love’s eye sees.

Our fear has festered, and has found fair soil
in which to grow, bear fruit and choke our love,
so we in selfishness spread hurt, and spoil
the very world we’re so enamored of.

Yet this is yours. Each wound, each sin, each slight
you occupy with that same voice to call
forth grace, to heal, to birth new light.
The angels’ “news” is older than the Fall.

O you who love this world, in this world be,
in Mary, in the manger, and in me.

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

A solstice meditation for both hemispheres

Blessed darkness, mystery’s robe,
host of all that exceeds our sight,
sanctuary of the unknown,
today you hold us near.
This night, this longest night,
when mystery emerges
from her chambers to sing,
tonight we offer up to you
our certainty we see it all;
tonight you close our eyes
and bid us dream.
Come, precious darkness,
give us a world
that is more than we can see.
Come, gentle darkness,
and hold a space
for our humble candles
to warm our hearts,
for the smallest star to shine
and lead us to the manger.

            ——— (the Equator)————


Blessed darkness, womb and shelter,
rest for weary eyes,
today you begin your long return.
This day, this longest day,
we offer up to you
our looking and our seeking
for your treasure.
Come, healing darkness,
on this, our longest day of labors,
and bid us rest.
Come, enfolding darkness,
close our eyes, pause our searching
and calm our anxious hearts,
for the One we seek seeks us,
and comes, and in the turning light
turns our hearts toward the manger.

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

Zechariah got an angel.
Mary got an angel, came to her door.
Joseph had regular updates,
angelic GPS directions coming and going.
Even the shepherds got personal notification.
I don’t get angels.
No heavenly messengers sing to me,
point out the miracles, lead the way,
shine with glory, tell me what to do.
But I want to know what this means,
where to look, where to go, what to do.
How do I do this without angels?

God, give me faith to sit tight and listen.

And listen.

To listen to the voice of love
until I know,
and then
to listen to the voice of love
until I sing.

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

Yes, I who stir the star-whirls with a finger
have considered, I have pondered well
what it might be to plunge into not just
the human form but substance, single life:

risk being lost, alone, abandoned (me!)
feel loss or guilt, or suffer being wrong,
betray and be betrayed, with shame and grief,
to hurt, to doubt, and not to know—not know!—

to try and fail to understand myself,
to feel and sometimes fear it, and to find
myself undone, unable to go on.
To weep. To love so hard it wounds…. To die.

I know this. Yet a life removed from life
I will renounce to feel the touch of you,
and wonder, and the miracle of love
unearned but given and received in joy.

I forfeit my defense, surrender all,
and fragile now, as if a newborn child,
stripped bare and swaddled only in my love,
I seek you.
                   I am coming.
                                         I am here.

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

Coming on winter,
        the cold circles overhead, a bird of prey.
The sun hesitates before rising,
        crawls up slowly through the plundered trees.
The branches seem more supplicant now,
        more clearly in need, and begging, reaching.
Yet look closely: the oaks already hold next spring’s buds,
        little fetal fists, nubs that snub the cold.
They know.
        They are ready.

Might I trust that within me, too,
        even in cold and dark times,
buds of new life already curl
        around some invisible knowing,
ready?

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

Joseph, trapped on this side of the gulf,
for holiness unfolds beyond you,
now affirm what you cannot know,
say yes and go silent;
stand by faithfully.

Mary, trapped on the far side of the gulf,
for holiness grows within you,
now trust what no one but you can know,
say yes and sing your song;
open yourself faithfully.

Others will not know
and claim loudly to know, and judge,
and you will smile silently,
tip your head slightly to the side
and carry on and not abandon your Beloved.

So, bewildered, we find ourselves enfolded
in the blessed mystery of grace promised,
outrageous belief that in our pains and labors,
in our unknowing, in the cells of our loneliness,
something magnificent unfolds in us without us.
Knowing only how we believe and not what,
without turning back,
we lay ourselves in God’s dark hands.

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

A thin skin of ice on the pond
comes and goes, an eye opening and closing.
Soon it will tire and stay closed.
The cattails rattle along the shore,
the red twig dogwood has nothing to say.
Sedges have bowed their heads
for the long prayer service.
There is no fear here.
Little creatures, and some great ones, have gone in.
The oaks hold their secrets tightly.
The last geese row, patient, across the pond of sky.
They know where they’re going.
The squirrels trust their hoards,
the nuthatches, the finches know
where to find things,
the chickadees know their songs.

I believe we can learn to trust
what is to come,
and what will come after that.

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

The lift and drop of the headlines.
The drift of nations in and out of sanity.
The world stumbling toward its fate.
I will be there.

The school,
and the streets between your house and the school,
and the child who walks there.
I will be with you.

The argument,
the deep gnawing fear for a relationship on edge,
the brown weight of guilt.
Beloved, I will be near.

The waiting room,
the moment in the car before you go in,
and the child sleeping in her crib.
Yes, I will be there.

The soup, simmering,
and the wooden spoon beside the soup,
and the sock drawer.
I will be with you.

There will be the starry night,
and there will be all the others;
the light from the stable,
and all the stables with no miracles,
the days without end:
yes, always,
I will be with you.

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