December 26

The Feast of St. Stephen
 
Day after Christmas.
day after a holiday…
a feast day remembering the birth
            of one called holy,
            of one called ‘the true Light’,
            of one called ‘the Life’.
 
‘Boxing Day’, another day off
            in Canada.
Frenzy day of exchanges and sales
            of big spending in the US.
Day when the battle resumed
            for soldiers in WWI where
            (at least they took leave from
            killing one another for a day.)
 
Fighting and death take no holiday.
Children are born and die
            without regard to dates.
Holy scriptures tells of
            insane old King Herod’s
            massacre of the innocents
            in fear of ‘God-with-Us’.
A voice was heard in Ramah,
            Rachel weeping for her children
            that were not.
Some remember the
            St Stephen day murders;
            death after celebration of birth
 
Angel song of peace on earth,
            good will toward all
            with whom God is well pleased-
                        -ridiculous.
Earth proceeds living and dying,
            birthing and killing,
            creating and destroying.
The martyrdom of Stephen,
            stoned for believing
            in life, in one called, Jesus
falls this day,
            a day after the celebration of birth.
 
Paradox abounds.
Divine becomes human.
Life leads to death leads to life.
Spirit and flesh are one.
God births human and human births God.
Giving birth, taking life.
Dare we acknowledge this
“feast” of St. Stephen come
            on the heels of Christmas?
                        Dare we not?
 
May we find the grace born
            within that we might
            live, together, in peace.

Always Some New Delight

September 2009

 
I know this pathway, having
marked its beginning,
cleared brush,
trampled fern,
widened and pruned passage.
I know its distance
and have watched its woodland grow
through changing seasons.
I know this pathway
yet still it
catches me unaware.
 
Adorned as if
commemorating
some grand festivity,
like miniature balloons
and graffiti
strewn in celebration,
the mushroom families
threw a surprise party
inviting a share in
their joy:
  tiny, tenuous red caps,
  fat stalked white torpedoes,
  wide roofed browns and spotted
  burgundy toadstools,
  sheltering wouldbe gnome and fairy celebrants;
  brilliant yellow clusters,
  bunches of fluted gelatinous cones,
  creamy, coffee, caramel, and
  chocolate dyed sprouts
  akin to ocean’s forested sponge and coral,
  anemones surfacing together,
soft firmness pushing through
hard packed footfall and
mossy mantles
joining in the great parade of life
for their brief moment to offer their
gift of being.

  
Was this a planned affair
of perfect timing
invitations sent to
unknown recipients?
or simply serendipitous eruption of
season, temperature, moisture,
and light?  All things together
in the right now
exploding in merriment?
For whom this exhibition? For what purpose
all these colors, sizes and textures?
Why this almost arrogant display of
fungicidal frivolity that
fades within few days?
 
We three are all who see
the grand exposition;
2 frequent walkers and
an oblivious, dancing, prancing
retriever delighting just to be.
Might there be other unseen
delighters in this festive fete?
I know this pathway having
walked here a thousand times yet
never before quite arrayed like today.
 
May the surprises of the journey
always hold some new delight.
In the assumptions of knowing,
may mysteries open spaces
for wonder and amazement,
gratitude and grace.

Almost Time (Cardinal Wisdom)

She waits
peacefully, silently.
They found and
built the nesting place
together, but
the incubation is her task.
It was her task to
bear the eggs,
to warm and watch,
to wait.
Nestled upon fragments,
woven sticks and leaves,
held secure by branched support,
beneath the canopy
of the Japenese Maple’s red leaves,
she remains hidden and at rest.
Shaded from the sun’s heat
and sheltered from hard rains
she waits.
Peaceful.  Silent,
yet alert to every
sound and movement.
She listens and
pays attention.
Always her mate is near.
Always his nearby song
reassures her she is not alone.
From his own hidden places
he calls to her
and she hears.
He comes to her,
she need not move.
He feeds her and retreats
only to come again and again,
in song,
gently, carefully,
offering food for sustaining,
keeping watch over his
mate and brood
day by day until
it is time.
And then…
 
Come, mate of my soul
and feed me as we wait together.
Protect me with your vigilance
for the time is coming near when
outer shells must crack open
for new life, new flight.

Orchid

It’s there,
clearly present.
No doubt about it.
It may be several years
coming, but now
is the time.
 
New growth has
has occurred through the wait,
roots have crawled out
and over the edge
of confinement,
signs of vitality;
yet waiting still
for stems upright.
 
Testing location,
sunshine and shade,
water, nutrients,
humidity, attention.
Hopeful for prime
environs.
 
Impatient with life
we longingly seek the
product:
spectacular,
fragrant beauty,
showy splendor,
believing the product
gives reason to be.
 
Waiting in time,
watching for conditions needful,
accepting as they are,
living expectant in the daily
realm of being,
it has all that is necessary
for reason to be
itself.
 
Persisting over seasons,
now comes the time.
Orchid’s new stem
reaching for the heavens
propped by parakletos,
a strong supportive guide,
buds for blossoms inevitable.
She is ready.
A new time in continuing process,
all in the right time,
all in its time,
all time in Love’s
timing.
 

 

On Becoming Bread

“Be gentle when you touch bread.  Let it not lie uncared for, unwanted.  So often bread is taken for granted.  There is so much beauty in bread—beauty of the sun and soil, beauty of patient toil, winds and rains have caressed it, Christ often blessed it.  Be gentle when you touch bread.”  (unknown, from More-with-Less-Cookbook)

 

“This is our daily experience: we are the dough unceasingly raised up by the yeast of Love.” (Pierre Wolff,  Discernment: The Art of Choosing Well)

 

“The kingdom (the realm) of God is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with flour until all was leavened.”  (Jesus, Matthew 13:33)

 

“Lord, make me like your bread, your body

         take me

         bless me

         break me

         and pass me around your people.” (unknown)

 

“I am the bread of Life” said Jesus. 

Every culture has developed its form of bread, from wheat, corn, rice or some other grain from the earth, soil, sun, and rain.  For daily bread, is our daily prayer for all the physically, relationally, and spiritually hungry in the world.  From manna in the wilderness, to shared loaves among thousands on the hillside, the communion of our God is found wherever two or more share bread, the Bread of Life.

Become bread, grown in the grace of God.  Let the yeast of Love give fullness, let it rise within.  Let the aroma of the baking fill the senses, warming the heart.  Kneaded, formed, risen, fired; be taken and blessed, broken and shared.  Become bread for living. 

Three Gates Words Must Pass

From the Sufi tradition

In order for words to be let out they must pass successfully through three gates:

-are they true?

-are they necessary?

-are they kind?

Closing the Door

January, 2009

Closing the door-
a last quarter turn of the key,
click, locked.
         24 and one half years
         complete.

 
Walking away-
         emptied desk,
         emptied shelves,
         emptied walls,
         emptied files,
         emptied waste basket,
full boxes, 
full heart.
A final look
         to glimpse fragments left behind.

 
Turning from
         what was
         to what will be.
 
Praying-
silently in empty spaces
holy places
echoes resounding
         prayer and praise,
         music and laughter,
         children and parents and grandparents
         sounds of silence and sounds of life
filled with wisdom, mystery, memory, grace
ever present Spirit
Holy Communion.
 
An ending 
a closing
a treasure packed up and locked
         behind
         yet within
         past but always present
a key for tomorrow.
 
O Divine Mystery,
Thank you for what was.
May an opening begin with this closing.