I have been spending this week amid the rough and spiny beauty of Big Bend. Watching the sun rush into the morning sky from behind the ridge, listening to the birds as they wake the breeze. Seeing the thorny limbs of the ocotillo silhouetted against a streak of sunlit cloud.
This is wild and lonely country, with a hardened grace that is recorded in the adobe history of common striving. None could make it here, alone. Continue reading
Luke 2: 36-38 There was also a prophet, Anna, the
daughter of Penuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.
That whispered voice that speaks with deep authority
The voice that speaks to my inner ear, that warms my heart
That sense of the Almighty, shielded sufficiently so that I can bear its coming
That Presence spoke to me today when I arose from my mat.
Moishe the Beadle, in introducing the young Elie Wiesel to the ways of mystery, insisted that, ‘every question possessed a power that was lost in the answer.’
How so?
If I follow his lead … I don’t answer this question. I let it work its power in my heart.
(Not easy, is it?)
[Wiesel, E. (1958). Night. (2006 translation by M. Wiesel) New York: Hill & Wang. p. 5] [photo adapted from ‘Rabbi Avrohom Osdoba‘ by Joe Goldberg per cc 2.0]
William Sloan Coffin offers a reflection on the story in the second chapter of Mark about the man with paralysis, whose friends lowered him through the roof to get to Jesus. Coffin focuses on the courage required to accept the gift and the challenge of healing.
“With no difficulty, I can picture myself lying on the pallet, the center of the crowd’s attention. I can image myself enjoying the ability to use my distress to manipulate my friends. I can certainly imagine the comfort I would draw from the words, ‘My son, your sins are forgiven.’ But when, following the indicative of forgiveness, I heard the imperative of responsibility – ‘Rise, take up your pallet and walk’ – I think I my inclination would have been to murmur, ‘No thanks, I think I’ll just stay here on the stretcher.’ (p.12-13)”
“… if it’s hell to be guilty, it’s certainly scarier to be responsible – response-able – able to respond to God’s visionary, creative love. (p.13)”
Hey! Did you notice the dawn this morning?
Huh? Is it dawn? (yawn)
Did you catch the energy of that inexhaustible furnace of light – the daily eruption of fire across the rim of morning?
Ah … yeah … I guess so. My eyes (and my heart) are a bit heavy. They are not stirring yet today. Continue reading
those laugh lines
at the corners of my soul –
they belong to you
[photo ‘heart shaped bacon‘ by The Art of Doing Stuff per cc 2.0]
Ok.
Help.
Again.
Again, I am at a loss.
Again, I am scattered and distracted.
Again, all seems crazy around me.
Again, I turn to you …
Again, you wrap your arms around me.
Again, you envelop me in your peace.
Again, you provide the mystery, the grace.
Again, you give me courage to continue and hope to sustain.
Again, I remember that you are with me …
Still.
2 11 15
[photo ‘Drunk Again” – Dumpster Graffiti‘ by McLevn per cc 2.0]
I find myself opening a drawer full of long neglected junk: some trash, some treasure, some pencil numbs and safety pins – small items tucked away instead of cleaned or organized, lost to usefulness by neglect.
This is my soul, oh Holy One, and I am tired of the mess.
Sigh.
Good morning, God.
Sigh.
Too long away,
Too long distracted,
Too little umph.
[photo “Ragged Coneflower 01” by Al per cc 2.0.]
Quiet Hope 