The Longing of Mary, the Mother

Beneath this withered tree – 

             branches cross the sky

My heart breaks open for even

God cannot protect the Son

from the crimes of humanity.

Beneath this withered tree – branches cross

as my heart breaks open watching

the soul of my son fly

into the sky.

Beneath this withered tree –  

hope crosses my broken - open heart

as I feel the shelter of a God  that does not control

but bears with us the sorrows of our humanity.

                    

So Much is in the Bud

A reading by John Leax has captured my Lenten imagination. John lives on a small farm in New York State and teaches writing at Houghton College. There is never enough time to do all the work on the farm, and the old orchard, planted long ago by someone on a hillside, is neglected and overgrown. One day John was driving through the large, carefully groomed orchards of central Ontario, and found himself vaguely depressed by the endless rows of well-ordered trees. He reflected on his feeling, and on the sense of being at home in his own little, poorly tended orchard. “Why was that?” he wondered. It had to do, he finally concluded, with the way a small orchard fits into the scheme of creation, with many people caring for their tiny plots of ground. The huge orchards of the conglomerates, on the other hand, were sad reminders of the commercialization of the land.

"Perhaps this is why," he wrote "though I feel my failure to bring the old orchard to fruitfulness, I feel no real guilt, why in fact I feel a sort of pleasure in watching it turn wild and useless. When I walk in it, it tells me that one's caring comes to an end. It tells me that life is lived within the boundaries of extremes, of wildness and domestication. It tells me that my order is not the only order. And in its message I feel comfort."

"We have only begun to imagine the fullness of life.

                  How could we tire of hope? So much is in the bud." 

~ Denise Levertov

 

Crocus-Minded by Jo Sorley

It takes courage to be crocus-minded.
God, I’d rather wait until June,
Like wise roses,
When the hazards of winter are safely behind,
and I’m expected, and everything’s ready for roses.
But crocuses?

Highly irregular.
Knifing through hard-frozen ground and snow,
and sticking their necks out,
because they believe in spring
and have something personal
and emphatic to say about it.

God, I am by nature rose-minded.
Even when I have studied the situation here
and know there are wrongs that need righting,
affirmations that need stating,
and know also that my speaking out may offend . . .

for it rocks the boat . . .
Well, I’d rather wait until June.
Maybe later things will work themselves out,
and we won’t have to make an issue of it.
God, forgive,  Wrongs don’t work themselves out.
Injustices and inequities and hurts don’t just dissolve.
Somebody has to stick her neck out,
Somebody who cares enough to think through
and work through hard ground,
because she believes and has something personal
and emphatic to say about it.
Me God?  Crocus-minded?
Could it be that there are things that need to be said,
and you want me to say them?         I pray for courage.

 I want to thank my colleague Rev. Karen Millard from Squamish United Church for posting this poem

An Irish Blessing (anon)

May God give you...
For every storm, a rainbow,
For every tear, a smile,
...For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.

A LENTEN PSALM OF LONGING

In the midst of ambiguity, O God,

in the midst of the messiness 

         of our lives,

Choices that are not clear

lines that are not

solid, sharp, predictable,

In the daily challenge,

in the plunging into the chaos,

uncertainty, doubt,

In all this, O God,

we find you,

God of incarnation, of life

which is neither neat nor clear-cut.

Through our daring

to live into the questions

we encounter you,

God of the questions themselves.

Through our living in chaos,

we encounter you, God of chaos,

God in chaos,

God moving, stirring, bringing to birth

    a new creation.              (anonymous )

 

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent. Its roots lie in the ancient Jewish festival of Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement. Atonement means "at-one-ment" If we are to be one with God, with creation, with each other, and one with ourselves, we must face honestly who we are and open ourselves to the supportive power of God and our faith community in the Lenten struggle for new life. So Ash Wednesday marks a turning away from all that takes away joy so that we might create space for the new life that is to come.

 

Let's give up negativity this Lent!! 

    Our longings 

               invite us to make room 

                             for what is to come!!!

 

Trusting in the melody of God

“It is not the nature of the task but the consecration that is the vital thing.”

 ~ Martin Buber

In a book from the 1940’s, The Reed of God, the author, Caryll Houselander, tells how painful it is to become a reed that carries the melody of God. The flute has to be carved and cut out, it has to have many openings for the breath to come through and for the music to be heard. So too in our lives. Our work will not always be pleasant and easy. There will be times of confusion  and frustration. We will not always want to do the things we are called to do. The pain and stress can be a means of hollowing out, of becoming more open to the music of God. These hollowing out experiences call for faith. Sometimes we simply have to trust in God’s melody and believe, in spite of few results and self doubt that we are each capable of being instruments of God’s dream. 

 

Sometimes that is the wonder of it all. That we can carry the melody of God even  when we feel we cannot carry a tune. Thanks be to the spirit that continually creates harmony out of our lives.