Marked by Ashes

 

Walter Brueggemann (b. 1933)

Marked by Ashes

Ruler of the Night, Guarantor of the day . . .This day — a gift from you.
This day — like none other you have ever given, or we have ever received.
This Wednesday dazzles us with gift and newness and possibility.
This Wednesday burdens us with the tasks of the day, for we are already halfway home
halfway back to committees and memos,
halfway back to calls and appointments,
halfway on to next Sunday,
halfway back, half frazzled, half expectant,
half turned toward you, half rather not.

This Wednesday is a long way from Ash Wednesday,
but all our Wednesdays are marked by ashes —
we begin this day with that taste of ash in our mouth:
of failed hope and broken promises,
of forgotten children and frightened women,
we ourselves are ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
we can taste our mortality as we roll the ash around on our tongues.

We are able to ponder our ashness with
some confidence, only because our every Wednesday of ashes
anticipates your Easter victory over that dry, flaky taste of death.

On this Wednesday, we submit our ashen way to you —
you Easter parade of newness.

Before the sun sets, take our Wednesday and Easter us,
Easter us to joy and energy and courage and freedom;
Easter us that we may be fearless for your truth.
Come here and Easter our Wednesday with
mercy and justice and peace and generosity.

We pray as we wait for the Risen One who comes soon.

For over thirty years now, Walter Brueggemann (b. 1933) has combined the best of critical scholarship with love for the local church in service to the kingdom of God. Now a professor emeritus of Old Testament studies at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia, Brueggemann has authored over seventy books. Taken from his Prayers for a Privileged People (Nashville: Abingdon, 2008), pp. 27-28.

Source: http://www.journeywithjesus.net/PoemsAndPrayers/Walter_Brueggemann_Marked_By_Ashes.shtml

Empty

Pour it out. Dump it down. Throw it out. Empty every bag,

box and bureau. Empty every closet, every corner, every

cupboard, every cell. Pull it out. Drag it out. Clean it

out. Clear it out. Spread it out, sort it out. Look at

what you've collected, what you've stored, what

you carry around with you every day of your

life. Empty out the old, the unwanted,

the unusable. Empty out the pain, the

heartache, the memories. Empty

everything that offers nothing.

Leave things empty for a

while. Feel empty. Feel the

lack. Feel your way

through the

nothingness,

until at last

you feel

ready to

fill.

 

"Empty" by Rachel Snyder from Lists That Saved My Life by Angel Tuccy

New Year Resolve

 

New Year Resolve

by May Sarton

The time has come
To stop allowing the clutter
To clutter my mind
Like dirty snow,
Shove it off and find
Clear time, clear water.

Time for a change,
Let silence in like a cat
Who has sat at my door
Neither wild nor strange
Hoping for food from my store
And shivering on the mat.

Let silence in.
She will rarely speak or mew,
She will sleep on my bed
And all I have ever been
Either false or true
Will live again in my head.

For it is now or not
As old age silts the stream,
To shove away the clutter,
To untie every knot,
To take the time to dream,
To come back to still water.

"New Year Resolve" by May Sarton, from Collected Poems 1930-1993. © W.W. Norton & Co., 1993. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

Against the Wind...for Diane

I know that I have life

only insofar as I have love.

 

I have no love

except it come from Thee.

 

Help me, please, to carry

this candle against the wind.

 

-Wendell Berry, Leavings

 

(A special thanks to my kindred spirit, and going on 32-years friend,

Diane who has lived this hot-wax-on-hand life of love

and who introduced me to Wendell Berry.)

This Holy Place

This Holy Place

by Stephen W. Smith

 

There are no stained glass windows here.

Only the gold of the Aspens and

 

the cathartic blue of heaven’s skies.

Yet, this is a holy space.

And in my heart, I am bowing.

 

The high priests swing their incense,

And it is the words that sway me–that slay me.

No candle burns here but my heart alone.

and I feel ignited. I am burning–finally burning.

 

The open book is my Eucharist.

The wafer offered me by Oliver, Frost and Whyte.

My cup is the poem of words that draw blood.

Words that wound. Words that heal.

 

This place–this moment is my church

and I belong. I am free. And I am at rest.

The words–they do baptize my wondering heart

 

to come home. To finally know this place as church.

http://www.steveandgwensmith.com/2012/10/13/this-holy-place/

The Autumn

The Autumn

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1833)

Go, sit upon the lofty hill, And turn your eyes around, Where waving woods and waters wild Do hymn an autumn sound. The summer sun is faint on them — The summer flowers depart — Sit still — as all transform’d to stone, Except your musing heart. How there you sat in summer-time, May yet be in your mind; And how you heard the green woods sing Beneath the freshening wind. Though the same wind now blows around, You would its blast recall; For every breath that stirs the trees, Doth cause a leaf to fall. Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth That flesh and dust impart: We cannot bear its visitings, When change is on the heart. Gay words and jests may make us smile, When Sorrow is asleep; But other things must make us smile, When Sorrow bids us weep! The dearest hands that clasp our hands, — Their presence may be o’er; The dearest voice that meets our ear, That tone may come no more! Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth, Which once refresh’d our mind, Shall come — as, on those sighing woods, The chilling autumn wind. Hear not the wind — view not the woods; Look out o’er vale and hill — In spring, the sky encircled them — The sky is round them still. Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold — Come change — and human fate! Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound, Can ne’er be desolate.

Saint Patrick's Breastplate

 

 

Saint Patrick's Breastplate is a Christian hymn whose original Old Irish lyrics were traditionally attributed to Saint Patrick during his Irish ministry in the 5th century; however, it was probably actually written later, in the 8th century. It is part of the Liber Hymnorum, a collection of hymns found in two manuscripts kept in Dublin. (source: Wikipedia) 

 

 

I bind unto myself today

The strong Name of the Trinity,

By invocation of the same

The Three in One and One in Three.

I bind this today to me forever

By power of faith, Christ’s incarnation;

His baptism in Jordan river,

His death on Cross for my salvation;

His bursting from the spicèd tomb,

His riding up the heavenly way,

His coming at the day of doom

I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself the power

Of the great love of cherubim;

The sweet ‘Well done’ in judgment hour,

The service of the seraphim,

Confessors’ faith, Apostles’ word,

The Patriarchs’ prayers, the prophets’ scrolls,

All good deeds done unto the Lord

And purity of virgin souls.

I bind unto myself today

The virtues of the star lit heaven,

The glorious sun’s life giving ray,

The whiteness of the moon at even,

The flashing of the lightning free,

The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,

The stable earth, the deep salt sea

Around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today

The power of God to hold and lead,

His eye to watch, His might to stay,

His ear to hearken to my need.

The wisdom of my God to teach,

His hand to guide, His shield to ward;

The word of God to give me speech,

His heavenly host to be my guard.

Against the demon snares of sin,

The vice that gives temptation force,

The natural lusts that war within,

The hostile men that mar my course;

Or few or many, far or nigh,

In every place and in all hours,

Against their fierce hostility

I bind to me these holy powers.

Against all Satan’s spells and wiles,

Against false words of heresy,

Against the knowledge that defiles,

Against the heart’s idolatry,

Against the wizard’s evil craft,

Against the death wound and the burning,

The choking wave, the poisoned shaft,

Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,

Christ behind me, Christ before me,

Christ beside me, Christ to win me,

Christ to comfort and restore me.

Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,

Christ in hearts of all that love me,

Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,

The strong Name of the Trinity,

By invocation of the same,

The Three in One and One in Three.

By Whom all nature hath creation,

Eternal Father, Spirit, Word

Praise to the Lord of my salvation,

Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

He is able

when you want to give grace
and extend respect and play nice
…but you’re clumsy and injured and skeptical

you look Grace in the eye and cry help

when you want to spread hope and encourage dreams and fan faith
…but you’re hesitant and weak and suspicious

you touch Hope in the heart and plead please

when you want to show love
and give compassion and meet needs
…but you’re tired and timid and scarred
you stir Love in the Spirit and sing thank you

for your receipt of Grace and your gathering of Hope and your taking in of Love
so you can give Grace out
and spread Hope around
and show Love to all

when you want to
you’ll be enabled to because He is able to
amen

--------------------------------------

Thank you Lisa @ http://lisanotes.blogspot.com/ for this wonderful post.

Resurrection

Loving One,
you are present,
unbound by anything.

Dawning One,
you are in this moment,
not entombed in the past.

Forgiving One,
you are in the freedom of my soul,
not the stones of my surroundings,
not the grave of my deeds.

You whose glory it is to set us free,
deliver me
into the present moment.

You who give life
where there is none,
I live not by surviving
but by being raised
each moment,

with each breath
to have died,
with each breath
to be risen.

Written by

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

From www.unfoldinglight.net

Blossom by blossom

For winter's rains and ruins are over,

And all the season of snows and sins;

The days dividing lover and lover,

The light that loses, the night that wins;

And time remembered is grief forgotten,

And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,

And in green underwood and cover

Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837–1909)
Atalanta in Calydon (1865)

Photos courtesy of the budding spring in the Taylor backyard.