Lectionary meditation for 7/1/2007

The lectionary for this week can be found here.

For some reason this morning my mood is black. Perhaps black is not the right word. It is heavy, a stone in my breast. I needed to hear "Be Still my Soul" as I drove to work this morning. But instead the CD player kept shuffling through songs of loss and separation. Thank God I don't have to preach on this lesson. I wouldn't make it without crying.

I imagine the heavy stone of dread that weighed down Christ as he began that last journey toward Jerusalem. He had "set his face" the writer tells us. I know the feeling, of turning toward something you want to run from, of picking up leaden feet and walking toward insanity. This reading, more even than the traditional garden of Gethsemane account resounds with some deep core of torment and pain. I feel the weight of it. He alone understood the darkness and the dread. And he felt it. Something has changed. People can see it, they sense it, and they reject it and him. Perhaps because in him they now see mirrored all of their own darkness and fear. Their own dread.

When Jesus stops the disciples from calling down destruction on those poor people I hear despondency in his voice. He knows why they rejected him and he cannot blame them. Here are the seeds of a fully human savior who, even as he is obedient, wants nothing more than to turn and run.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, "I will follow you wherever you go." And Jesus said to him, "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head." To another he said, "Follow me." But he said, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." But Jesus said to him, "Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God." Another said, "I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home." Jesus said to him, "No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God."

And then the second half of this reading turns the mirror about, this time I am not reflecting Christ but he is pointing at me. I am these people. I have said to God, over and over again. "I will, but first let me..." And God let me go. Why? I don't know. Because I am free I suppose, because God is patient, because the answer when it finally comes must be my own. I have at last said "Yes, I will go, please send me now!" But it took a very long time to reach that place and now I must wait again, because that is the way the Church works. It is indeed frightening to not say "but wait" to God.

If I were preaching on Sunday it would be on trust. We corporately answer God in the same way as the men and women Jesus called. We are being called to do work but we instead distract ourselves with finances and building maintenance, with committees and studies and reports. But those things must be done, must they not? And yet here is Christ, weary and heart-sore and out of patience with the distractions of the world. He says not, he calls us to simply do. To simply do, to simply follow Him, we must trust. We must learn to trust that the finances will work, that the building care will be done by those gifted with that ministry. We must trust our leaders instead of spending months on reports and committees. It is trust that is hardest at this place. Trust in each other, trust in our diocese, trust in God. We have been hurt, we have reasons not to trust. But Christ is radical, he calls us to trust despite our wounds. He calls us to trust in Him, in God, just as he did. Trust even in the darkness and the dread.

I can hear God saying "walk with me and be my priest." I have said "yes" a thousand times now, ecstatic and joyful. But I know God is also asking me to walk a more immediate path and that I can't see, or perhaps I do not want to see? I want to say yes, I am just not sure to what. What are you asking me to do Jesus? Do I stay, or do I go? If I go, I go with friends, to a safe harbor though it will be new and different and I will be just another refuge there. Or would you have me stay, like the demoniac, here among the fearful?

There is a stone in my chest today.

Stone

My heart is stone
heavy in my chest
They tell me to wait
but I must go
They tell me to walk
but I long to dance
The sun shines
on the face
of my tears
The breeze
cools the anger
of my skin
Why?

Prayer for puttering

God of curiosity and wonder, we thank you for brining us through the darkness and into a new day. We thank you for questions and answers, for puzzles and solutions. We thank you for giving our hands work to do and our minds problems to solve. We thank you most especially for tasks well completed for another. Continue to strengthen our hands and limber our minds and make their work your own. Amen.

Thanksgiving for laughter

We thank you Almighty One, for friends and laughter, for silliness and delight. We thank you for the joy of your presence among us, the light of You in our lives. We thank you for growth and forgiveness, for new experience and new life. For through the trials of our lives you continue to shine love and grace among us. You remind us again, and again, that we are your children and we are precious. Continue to hold us in your comforting presence, continue to refill our emptied hearts with joy. Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier, we praise you! Amen. Alleluia.

Cranes

Against the green,
rolling field.
Seven cranes
stand clad
in velvet brown.
Wings spread wide
to knife the sun.
Silent dancers, on air
thick with dawn.

Hot summer prayer

The sun rises and brings with it light and warmth. Creator we thank you for summer, for warm days and green growing things. We pray for adequate rain, cool nights, and pleasant breezes. Water the earth that it might bring forth food for your creatures. Shield us from the burning rays of the sun, make them gentle on our heads and warm on our faces. The world around us praises you for life, we add our voices to the glad sound of growing grass, and rushing water. We praise you in the silence of a shading tree and the miraculous flight of the humming bird. Let us find wonder in all your creation. To you, loving Creator, we pray. Amen.

Prayer for holy outrage

God, send your Spirit among us, breath on us tongues of fire. Ignite our hearts with flame and fill us with holy outrage. That we may overturn the tables of the money lenders and bear the whip of your righteousness against the hypocrite. Give us the courage and fierceness of Christ. Let us minister to each other as Christ ministered to his disciples; and give us each wisdom to accept the ministrations of others. Bind us Lord, that we become one, and make us the body of Christ and his hands and feet at work in the world. We pray in the name of the Triune God; Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier. Amen.

Thanksgiving for healing

God of Morning you walk with us in the cool of the day. We thank you for your abiding presence in our lives and in our world. Let us hear you in the birdsong, let us see you in the flight of the sparrow. Let us find you in the world you made for Love. For you are present to us in Creation and your breath still stirs our hearts. We thank you Lord for healing, for the gift of clear sight beyond the seeming of things and to their heart. God of Wonder your breath brings us knowledge and grace and causes our tongues to speak your Words. Give us ears to hear your Spirit in our lives. Send her to whisper secret truths to our souls that we might speak healing to a broken world. Amen.

An empty moment, filled

Silence, empty air
filled with presence.
Memory,
washes against
the steps
but cannot reach
me.
I stand before you
still amid the silence
and wait
for eternity.
Solid and unmoving
smooth,
against my palms.
I breath in the breath
of You.
You pour out
of my heart
and my hands.
Holy Fire.

Lectionary Reflection 6/24/2007

Readings this Sunday

I have been thinking about Jesus this week and about call, about our response to God and his demands on us. There is a lot in this story, I've already read one rough draft sermon that focuses on quite different bits then jumped out at me and this is perhaps the most powerful magic of the Gospel, it speaks to each of us differently.

When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, "Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you." So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him. - (Emphasis mine)

The Christ of this story is not the meek lamb who takes children on his knee. He is wild and powerful. He does battle with Legion, he meets with an insane man. He displays power. To save that one man he destroys an entire herd of pigs. We could argue about the symbolism of unclean animals being seized by demons but it's not what I care about today.

What I care about is the reaction of the people from the city, and Christ's reaction to the man he healed. We are very much like those frightened crowds. When God moves with power among us we are often afraid. We are afraid of change, of risk but those things are part of God, they are how God works. We reject that change, we reject the Grace God offers us because our lives seem so much safer if we can just be given the ordering of them. And so we ask Christ to leave us. "Go away! What you ask is too hard!", "Go away! You break our rules!", "Go away! You make us uncomfortable!"

And Christ goes. He gets back into the boat and he leaves. God does not force himself upon us. God offers himself to us, God calls out to us, but God waits for us to accept him. We must open the door, we must accept the invitation. God has the power to drive the demons from our lives, to heal, to forge new community and new life. But we must want that healing, we must want that change!

But Jesus did not abandon the Gerasenes. Instead he made a disciple. He called the man who had once surly made people as uncomfortable as Jesus did now. And he made him a disciple, sending him back into the lives of those fearful Gerasenes to proclaim the Good News they had rejected. God doesn't abandon us, not even when we turn away from him. God runs after us constantly, calling us to return to her.

For me, it is a story about discomfort and fear. And the loving God who will never impinge on our freedom, or give up his love for us.

A prayer for fire

Come, Holy Spirit! Rush in and extinguish hatred and division, anger and pain. Rush in and stir up our lives for your work! Ignite in us pillars of fire that will burn through our masks and reveal to one another our true selves. Kindle our hearts with love so strong it breaks the chains of passivity and strife. And make us Love one another with your wild abandon and boundless Grace. Make our tears flow, oh Holy One, as offerings to you. Make us a light, oh God, to shine more brightly than the sun. And let us fight, with all of the gifts you have given us, that your light in he world might never be extinguished. You have made us a new people, of water and of fire. Let us burn with your Light, let us speak with tongues of Holy Fire. You are the Holy One, you are God from before all time. We pledge ourselves to your service, we bind ourselves to You. Send your Power among us and make us whole! Amen. Alleluia!

A psalm of pain

My heart weeps with sorrow God,
my tears burn my face.
For you have left me to wander,
alone in a barren land.
The stones rise up to bruise,
the sun scorches my head.
My tongue is thick with thirst,
and my body knows only pain.

I am lost, Lord.
I wander in fear.
My enemies are plentiful,
they scheme and destroy.
They strike at me from the shadows,
and vanish with the light.

Protect me, Father!
Draw your sword,
and strike down the hateful.
Make your war cry,
from the mountain.
And cause the Enemy,
to flee in fear.

Lift me from the dust, Mother.
Dry my tears,
upon your mantle.
Hold me safe,
within your loving embrace.
Comfort my fear,
Sooth my pain and suffering.

For you are all I have, my God.
You, and you alone.
Walk with me,
guide and protect me.
You are the Great and Merciful One.
I will sing your hymns,
on the battlefield.

I will face the charge,
without fear.
For you are with me.

This was among the most cathartic piece of writing I have ever done. I understand why the psalmists did what they did. Alleluia, Lord. Thank you.

God wields a 2x4

My lunchtime meditation...

I admit it, I'm stubborn. My grandmother called me a 'little Missouri mule' which was OK since that's what her mother called her. And she was right. When I get my feet planted and my head set it is very hard to move me. It took me ten years from the first little stirrings of call to finally give in and surrender to it. I get it God, it took a 2x4 to finally make me move.

I got an email today from Mom. A newsletter showed up at her house. I've been out of college for seven years but they still get the odd piece of mail now and then. Most are old honor societies, student groups, or U. departments that seem to be their own little islands of cluelessness. This time the mail was a newsletter from St. Thomas More Catholic Student parish. She listed the address. I sat looking at the email. I had never given St. Thomas my name, or an address. I had been there only once... God swings another 2x4. I hadn't really thought about St. Thomas in years. Probably since I was a freshman at Western. Why would I? I'm not a Roman Catholic, it was never my parish.

But it was part of my journey. I've told the story here before in part. I think a full reflection is in order. It was fall of 1995, almost twelve years ago. I was a freshman in every sense of the word. My first weeks away from home had been rocky. The first night had seen me in a storm of tears, wanting nothing more than to come home. But I had survived, found a roommate, and made some friends. Classes were going well, I was having fun. But not all of me was OK. That fall became one of the most spiritually painful times I had ever experienced. I was literally starving inside. I thumbed the phone book looking for Episcopal churches but they all seemed impossibly far away (I had no car and it never occurred to me to call one of them). It wasn't long before my need for worship, and Eucharist, had become a physical pain.

My roommate, ParticleGal, finally suggested I go to church with her. She was Roman Catholic and walked the few blocks off campus to St. Thomas More Student Parish. I hesitated, after all, it was a Roman Catholic church. I had been to Roman services, I had never been made welcome. She insisted. No one would have to know I wasn't RC, no one would ask, she assured me. It was a student parish, no one would be checking my credentials at the door. I don't remember how long it took me to take her up on the offer. In truth the whole incident had faded so far into my memory I no longer even had a name for the church until today. But I did go at last. And the memory flooded back today as sharp and distinct as if no time had passed.

It must have been late October, the leaves whipped around our legs in little cyclones and the air was cold. But it did not smell of snow yet, in Kalamazoo the air always smelled of snow by November. We walked through the gathering shadows. The service was in the evening, a nod to late rising students. Kalamazoo is a city built on hills. The steep peaks cluster together in tight knots. We descended from the campus and started up another steep slope, the street becoming residential. Other students had joined us on the sidewalk, I could see them across the street, and coming toward us as well. A quiet crowd all descending on a low rambling house built half way up the slope. Its windows glowed warm and orange in the descending dark. We lifted our knees high, climbing the stepped sidewalk and blew in through the door. The sanctuary might have once been the family room. It was long and narrow, filled with chairs. The altar sat against one long wall on the same level as we would all sit. ParticleGal dipped her fingers in a bowl of holy water by the door. I reached out as well, and traced a cross with the cool liquid on my forehead.

Weight slid off my shoulders, pooling around my feet and evaporating. I smiled and wove my way through the crowded room after ParticleGal. We found chairs off to the side of the altar, near the back of the room. There were no familiar prayer books, no kneelers, only chairs crammed as close together as could be managed. The room filled until it seemed there wasn't a chair left. Students laughed and chatted around me. I sat quietly, drinking in the sanctuary, my eyes devouring the familiar/foreign room. With no bulletin or book the service was hard to follow. I stood silently through most of the prayers that the rest knew by heart. But the creed and the Lord's prayer flowed from my lips gratefully. ParticleGal and I grinned at each other each time I could join in a familiar prayer or hymn.

And at last I ate. I hated the deception, but I went forward with the rest, eagerly taking the wafer and the wine. We sang the last hymn and exploded out into the darkness, a laughing mob of students released from the order of worship. My steps bounced as we climbed back up the long hill to campus, and I grinned into the wind. Despite the cold I was warm and full and satisfied. It had been the balm my soul longed for. And as if by magic the Cathedral Church of Christ the King found me. I had an Episcopal family again. For the next five years of school I never went hungry again.

And today God reminded me that I need never go hungry. It was my own lack of action that led me to starve for weeks. I could have made the calls, or I could have gone to service with ParticleGal long before. Instead I sat, paralyzed and unmoving, feeling sorry for myself. I need never be hungry again. Got it. Can I request padded 2x4s please?

Prayer for leaders

Holy God, as the new rays of day break through grey clouds, break through into our lives today. Make the work we do, holy. Make the words we speak, sanctified. May our thoughts turn always to you and our actions glorify your name. Send your Holy Spirit to be among us and send Her especially to be with all those who must make decisions for the guidance and governance of your church. Bless our deliberations. Cause us to truly hear one another when we speak and to speak with prayerful care. That your church might find unity and peace. Amen.

A thanksgiving for call

Spirit of God you breath fire into our hearts. You whisper secret wisdom in our ears. Thank you for the call you place in each our lives, and for the gifts you give us to fulfill that call. Help us to hear your voice in the stillness, and in the chaos. Help us to discern your will for us. Give us strength and courage to follow you, and joy in the doing of your work. Amen.

Prayer under grey skies

Gracious God you send rain to quench the thirst of all your creatures. Just as you ordered the sun by day to give life and warmth, and the moon by night to govern our rest. Water our souls as well, Father. Refresh us and wash us clean of the dust of this life. Cause us to dance in the cool of your showers and revel in your goodness. Bring us out of the night rested and whole, and let the rain that greets us in the grey dawn be not mournful but a gentle reminder that you provide all things for our need. Amen.

Strawberries, mud, and grace...

Heat, heavy and bright. Heat that shimmers off the pavement and gilds the horizon with haze. The breeze moved fitfully. The church was cool, lights flickering under the pull of air conditioning. We used to sit beneath the vaulted roof, reliant on stained glass windows, barely angled, to cool the nave. The church was full, new faces whispering to one another. We have gone to one service for summer the early and the late mingling at last. It was a crowded happy congregation and for once I got to sit among them.

We settled in the cool afterward, the study group gathered under the low white arch of the chancel. My priest motioned me out and we huddled in the sacristy. She handed me a folder, stuffed full of catalogs and course lists. And the whole process became real and shockingly immediate. A year, a year and I might be packing and planning. What seemed like an eternity, a lifetime, has suddenly become a heartbeat away.

But there is more to do until then, more growing and learning. I am asked to be an Lay Eucharistic Visitor (LEV). It is a daunting honor. But if I am really ready to do this, if this is really where I am called, what more natural way to begin? I took the little instruction book, and with a deep breath, agreed. Here I am Lord.

I had other commitments yesterday as well, including a promise to a friend. I rolled down the windows, rolled back the sunroof and drove, singing at the top of our lungs over the rush of the wind. North to the sandy fields where I picked strawberries as children. I loaded the boot (its a British car don't ya know?) with half a flat of berries so red and ripe the scent wrapped around us like silk.

Then South again, into the cool shade of the barn. Image hurt herself, her left hock was swollen on Saturday and I was back to check it and hose it down with cold water. I fetched her in from the pasture, the wrap sagging around her leg. The heat was oppressive now, her neck so wet with sweat she dripped water. We hosed her down, scrapping way the dirt and sweat and wrapped her leg again. E crouched beside her, hands full of thick gray clay, plastering it around the swelling, showing me how to wrap and secure the quilting. And I was reminded against snap judgments. This woman who can be waspish and angry, who can speak cutting words, who can be demanding, overbearing and snobbish. This woman who was now concerned and helpful, patiently showing me how to plaster and wrap, where to start, and how to end. I listened and felt and thanked God for the reminder that there is good in all of us. It is not my place to judge.

We left them all inside the dark cool of the barn. The fans turning slowly, moving the heavy air. The earthy sounds of contented nickers, and horses chewing hay.

I am burned on one shoulder and arm. Happy reminder of a day spent with a good friend and the windows rolled down. It is summer, and I savor it.

Monday prayer

Gracious God you have brought us safely out of Sabbath to a new week. Bless our labor as you have blessed our worship. Give us clear sight that we might see your will for us today and always; give us wisdom to discern the path you call us to walk; and to those you are calling to new things, give courage. Let our work be a blessing to you, Father. Uphold us through our labors and remind us constantly of the beauty of your creation. Lift our eyes from our tasks to refresh ourselves with wonder.

Make our relationships strong, and let us be a blessing to those with whom we walk this week. Let our hands comfort and support; and help us remember to accept the same from others. As the week is new, so make us new. That we may heal wounds, mend broken communities and learn to love one another as you love us. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

God of wonder

God of wonder,
in you all things are possible.
Hand of creation,
through you the world came to be.

Light crashes into light,
atoms die a fiery death.
Tides rise and plates shift.
That your dream might thrive.

Mother of all,
you weave the universe.
You knit us together,
out of time and know us.

Your children are numberless,
you claim all things.
You have painted with a brush
of stars, the canvas of eternity.

Spirit of power,
we flicker and fade
in the heartbeat of a world.
Who will remember,
when we are gone?

Prophet, sinner, saint...

Gospel text for this week: Luke 7:36-8:3

She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment.

I've been reading various responses and rough draft sermons on this lesson all week. People seem to have a very strong reaction to it, at least the women preachers whose blogs I read. It's the hair. That's what gets people. Some find it oddly disconcerting, some find it achingly intimate but no one I've read doesn't have a reaction to that hair.

My priest recommended I read Womanpriest the first time we met. My copy sits on the arm of the couch, within easy reach. A scrap of paper, grabbed absently, hangs out of it halfway through. Alla's words echo back to me when I read this scripture. She speaks of what women can bring to the priesthood. Not the traditional pat answer of "compassion, and gentleness" but something far more important:"... a genuine value for femaleness." Our church has been sorely lacking on this point, as has our world. But Christ was not. Over and over again Christ turned to women and met them as they were. He neither ignored nor belittled them. He did not demand they be subservient or passive. He acknowledged and taught them. He spoke to them in public. He touched them.

I have been thinking a great deal about priesthood. Alla reminds me that the calling of a priest is sacramental, she goes beyond sacramental ministry to say it is a sacramental way of living. I love that perspective. And as I read this afternoon the gospel lesson took on new shades.

In the old testament it is the prophets who anoint God's chosen. And here we are, in a time when women were chattel and a woman is anointing God's chosen. (The only anointing Jesus gets, ever, is from women.) She does it without fanfare, without claiming any special titles for herself. It is a humble and intimate act. I can see it as nothing but an act of pure love. Love, and gratitude so strong they could only be expressed through tears and kisses. No cloth would do to dry the feet of this Chosen. Only the hair of the prophet as she washed his feet and then anointed him.

The Christ does not pull away from such show of raw emotion. He does not flush with embarrassment. And he does not consider her, a woman, unworthy. He acknowledges what she has done, he blesses her. Whatever her sins might have been he wipes them away. And he accepts her, just as she is.

Oh, that we would be so brave. To cry out our love, to wipe away the dust and pain of the world with our own hair. To serve and anoint, without fear of unworthiness or thought of propriety, because our hearts drive us to it.

And that we would be Christ as well to another. Loving and accepting her just as God made her. Not pushing her away out of fear or shame; but accepting the service God has called her to perform, and rejoicing with her in it.

Now that was far different then what I thought I would write about. This was supposed to be about our Midwestern fear of touching, about human contact. I'm no longer surprised when things don't come out the way I planned, I'm enjoying it.

Life lessons and carrots (Part 2)

We ride out under a clear blue sky. The sun is bright, gilding the trees and laying down deep black shadows. Image dances, eager to be gone and free. Eager and excited. There is still a touch of fear, but mostly it is overcome by curiosity. She looks, head turning, ears rotating, taking in the world in enormous gulps.

I am relaxing, letting myself sit easy in the saddle, my back soft. My fingers soften on the reins, I fiddle with the fly whisk in my right hand. My attention wanders as we step out of the cool silent shade of the pines into a warmly lit field of waving grass. And in my moment of inattention Image leaps. Fear pounds through her, panic. I am not there, not listening, not guiding. She wheels, heart pounding. Run! A year ago I would have been in the dirt. A few months ago I would have had a panicked, clinging fight to stay aboard. Now my attention snaps back, I jam my heels toward the ground and my back stops her, my hands become a wall, my whole body pins us to the earth. She stops, trembling. We have only gone a few feet, a few panicked steps. I lean forward, calling her name and stroking her neck. She shakes her mane and shivers.

And now the second lesson: Never stop riding. Those who practice Zen would say; be always mindful.

It is in those still moments of life when everything is going smoothly, when we cannot see any obstacles or evils that we allow our attention to slip. Our minds wander away from the task at hand dreaming or scheming or simply inattentive. And life throws us. Because the danger is rarely visible a long way off. It takes us by surprise, rising from the tall grass, an invisible bogyman that sends our lives spinning away in a terrified scramble.

My trainer once said she did not take her own horse on trail rides with us because to ride him safely she "had to ride every step." There was no time her mind could be focused on us or on teaching. Our lives require us to ride every step.

As we moved off from our startle I firmed my back and sat down properly into the saddle. I closed my fingers gently on the reins, feeling Image in my hands, up my arms, through my back. Not constraining, or punishing but present. She could feel me too now, there with her through the bit, through my seat and legs. She could feel me riding each step, present and aware. She relaxed, the terror forgotten. But I sat alert, and reminded myself: never stop riding.

Plea to the Spirit

Come, Holy Spirit;
You have filled me with words
of fire.

Come, Holy Spirit;
You have lit my soul with
excitement.

Come, Holy Spirit;
You have ignited my heart
with love.

Come and fill me.
Come and lead me.
Come and drive me,
beyond my fear.

Open my mouth and teach me
to sing.
Open my heart and teach me
love for all Creation.
Open my eyes and teach me
to trust only you.

Come, Holy Spirit.

Tears of God

Creator of eternity,
you breathed and the stars ignited.
You wept with joy,
and the sea filled with salt,
and gave birth.

Mother of all things,
you know the name of all your children.
You call us each
by a secret word and our hearts
hear you and sing.

Forgive us then, Mother,
when we destroy and corrupt.
Wash us clean,
with your tears and make us
a new creation.

In your image.

The pride of men...

We sometimes manage to convince ourselves that we are very different than our ancestors. But how much, really, have we changed? Read this.

We finally finished the job our ancestors started a hundred years ago. Reading the article I was struck by a feeling of incredible sadness. The world lost something ancient and free and irreplaceable when men finally managed to kill this creature. It was older than many nations, older than any men have ever lived, older than two world wars, older than atomic bombs and the automobile. I feel dwarfed in comparison, humbled by a world I can not even imagine. What right, what right do we have?

When I was a little girl my parents had a recording of whale song. Their record system was in the basement, the speakers mounted on the walls far above my head. I would sit on the floor with my eyes closed listening as the whale song rolled over me. Their voices were haunting and magical. Not other-worldy but so eerily Earthly, so filled with the stuff of Creation that they made the hair at the base of my skull stand on end. They were the voice of that Creation: they were the stars singing, the aria of a galaxy, the voice of the ocean trenches and the cosmic deep.

They were humpbacks who sang on that record, not bowheads. But as I read this story I felt as if one of the ancient singers from my childhood had gone suddenly silent.




Find the recording here: Whale Song

God of dawn

God of dawn and dusk,
Maker of light and darkness.
You have brought me safely
through darkness, into daylight.

Let the brightness of your love
carry me through this day.
Until I rest joyfully
in your enfolding presence
when night has come again.

Life lessons & carrots (Part 1)

Image is afraid of the wash stall. She is young and silly and in her mind the drain at the center is horse eating. "Back." She lifts her head, eyes rolling, keeping me in sight as she plants her feet. "Back." I make the word more forceful and lay a hand on her chest, light pressure. I 'push' mentally. She snorts and takes a careful step, shivering. Slowly she steps back one foot, another, another. Her eyes never leave me. I keep the gentle pressure flowing, my voice warm and firm. "Good girl!" I snap the ties to her halter and pat her neck. "Silly girl."

I move around her, brushing dried mud from her coat, scrubbing at the spots that itch. My sister is watching me, and watching Image. Image keeps her head turned, her eyes on me, she reaches out and nuzzles me. She fidgets until I wrap my arms around her neck, stroking and patting. "She thinks you're Mom," my audience comments and I glance up at the dark brown eyes half hidden under long mane. Image drops her head into my chest and sighs.

And I think of the first lesson these powerful beasts have taught me. We all fear. Sometimes that fear is rational, sometimes it is not. We survive that fear by leaning on those we love and trust. When Image is afraid she looks to me, she does not try to face her fear alone. And when she forgets to look and lean, panic overcomes her. Lesson one: In the midst of fear, pain, trouble, and heartache lean on those you love. It is why they are there!

Taste of Memory

Glossy catalogs filled with
promises of golden light,
and smiling faces.
Take me back to cool October,a
drifted leaves and snow sharp air.
College is a taste on my tongue,
autumn, flowing rich with promise.
I dream into glowing pictures,
and wonder; what taste
when memory looks back?
Rich red wine and wheat-nut bread?

Negative Impressions

I've been in a very black and white mood lately, as in the film. Its just something shutter bugs do, at least this one does. The colors sometimes obscure more than they reveal. Black and white has always been a return to my roots. My first pictures were taken with an ancient camera Dad once used for his Master's study. He loaded it with black and white film and we marched out into the cold in car-harts and snow suits. I still have the pictures from that first roll of film. Icicles and snow drifts. Dad crouching down beside a little spruce that now towers over the yard.

Now and then I still go back, stripping away the vivid color, or the soft wash of pastels and leaving nothing behind but light and shadow...

Black & White

Seeker's Compline

It seems a very long time ago we were asked to read 5 Keys for Church Leaders. I devoured the book, underlining and adding !s until the pages were a spider web of ink. The section that covers welcoming seekers spoke very strongly to me, it is a place I think my parish is weak. Yet when I began looking online for worship material I found nothing that I liked. It seemed that in an effort to strip "churchness" from our Prayer Book services congregations had lost the artistry, the poetry that makes our services so beautiful.

So I did something I am still a little surprised at. I wrote my own. I sat down surrounded by copies of the BCP (they seem to accumulate like the dust bunnies under the bed until there is a little drift of them in all sizes and shapes), a couple dog eared bibles, and a little thrill in my heart. I tackled Compline. It is short and I know it so well the words have written themselves on my soul. Surely, I thought, this I could handle.

After much work, much editing, it is done. Or at least a first version is done. I feel inadequate for what I have created. It in no way could stand next to the poetry of the BCP. But it is what it is, and I offer it here for anyone who might find it even a little useful. I am releasing it under a creative commons license. Click the little link below to see how this works. NOTE: New version uploaded 6.17.2007. I have limited storage space online so only the most recent version will be maintained for download. Email me if you need an older copy.

Seeker's Compline


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Gemstones...

The iris and the roses are blooming, the last of the iris mingling with the late arriving divas of the garden. It rained three days in a row this week. My mother predicted doom, the rain would ruin the blooms. It did in fact scatter the peonies, each once full flower scattered across the lawn; handfuls of discarded swan feathers. But the iris stand tall, becoming velvet display cushions for gemstones more glorious than any in the jeweler's case.

There are a hundred (literally) images waiting for me to finish working on them. But it was late and my eyes were heavy. So I will leave you with a taste, friends. A humble offering. The adornment of angels. The handiwork of the Divine Artist.

(Sorry if this is hitting your RSS feed multiple times, I figured out how to make the images display how I wanted. Gimp to the rescue.)

In the Holy Chaos...

There was no sermon today so I post this instead of a sermon response.

I can smell oil of Chrism on my fingers. As I type its spice mingles with the scent of rain through the open window. I love the scent of it, I love the memories of baptisms and blessings it evokes each time I catch even a hint of it. It will be with me for the rest of the day, sanctifying my sabbath.

I begin to believe that God moves most strongly in chaos. The times in my life when the world has gone most thin, when I could feel God pressing in about me, have most often been in the midst of chaos. Sometimes that chaos is painful, turbulent, unwelcome. But sometimes, as today, it is joyful, exuberant, and most humbly welcome.

It is Trinity Sunday. We had four baptisms, an instructed Eucharist, and no deacon. I was acolyte and LEM. The chaos was beautiful. It is those moments when we all, leaders and congregation, move together through the chaos joyfully that I treasure most. As I juggle a pascal candle, towels, and oil for blessing. Or as I stand nervously beside S, finger trailing down the page of the altar book for the first time, marking our place in the service. Would it have all gone more smoothly with practice and careful detailed planning? Perhaps. Instead we enjoyed the moments of confusion, when each member of the liturgical dance caught one other as we stumbled; and shared laughter and smiles.

The chaos stopped, the world went utterly still and silent for me as S gave me the bread and the wine, and then set the plate in my hands and held out her own. Our narrator was still reading the words of instruction but I couldn't hear him. My throat closed tight. It wasn't tears, it was awe. A feeling of complete and total unworthiness for what I had just been asked to do. I got the words out; barely and brokenly. The body of Christ, the bread of heaven. There are no words for the moment. Only humble gratitude that God, in His holy chaos had led me to that place. My fingers returned with mingled relief and regretful longing to the familiar cool metal of the chalice.

The Trinity: God surprises us; Christ shocks us; the Spirit moves us. In chaos. And I am grateful for the reminder. It is not my place to ensure that my life, and the life of each of those I love, runs smoothly. It is not my place to manage and control. It is my place, in the midst of chaos, to trust. To hold out my unready hands, to lift my untested voice, and do what is asked of me. In the midst of holy chaos. Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!