A Prayer for Our Nation

 

And then all that has divided us will merge

And then compassion will be wedded to power

And then softness will come to a world that is harsh and unkind

And then both men and women will be gentle

And then both women and men will be strong

And then no person will be subject to another's will

And then all will be rich and free and varied

And then the greed of some will give way to the needs of many

And then all will share equally in the Earth's abundance

And then all will care for the sick and the weak and the old

And then all will nourish the young

And then all will cherish life's creatures

And then all will live in harmony with each other and the Earth

And then everywhere will be called Eden once again.

 

Judy Chicago, saltproject.org, October 6, 2020

The Beloved

 

It was a voice out of nowhere.

It was a voice from everywhere.

It was the voice of love.

It was the voice from above.
.

“You are my beloved,” came the words;

“You are my beloved,” was what they heard.

“You are my Son;”

“You are the One.”

 

The words were spoken at the river

By One, who of all life, is the giver.

The words were spoken to identify Jesus;

The words were spoken that God might touch us.

.

Down through the centuries of life,

Through war and pestilence and strife,

The faithful lose all fear,

When “You are my beloved” is what they hear.

.

The words are meant for all;

The words are God’s call.

“I love you without reserve.”

“I love you more than you deserve.”

.

And then there comes a time in each soul

When we embrace our God and commit our whole.

We say we will follow Jesus’ way

And in his path we will stay.

 

Robert McDowell, pastorrobert-nikos.blogspot.com, January 7, 2012

14 Degrees Below Zero in the Grocery Store Parking Lot

 

A dog and I stare at each other
from our separate cars, waiting for our people to return.
He’s a shepherd mix, big head, big ears,
like me, he’s riding shotgun.

Heat blares inside my car,
exhaust plumes from the pickup truck he’s in,
so I know he isn’t freezing but I don’t know
if he’s a he or a she, so I just think he.

He watches doors slide open and closed, open and closed.
So do I.

We look at each other, then back to the doors and I wonder
who will come back first—his owner or my friend?

I watch the doors, then the dog. I watch
two girls walk to their car, chuck frozen A-Treat soda cans
out of the dented trunk, make room for beer.

I look back to the doors, then the dog, and I see
a man in the driver’s seat—his owner has come back!
He’s won!

But I can’t see the dog.
I want to see the dog.

I want to see that he’s happy he won,
even though he didn’t know there was a contest,
even though he might not be a he,

I want to know he loves his owner, even though
I am assuming all this, I assume things, I assume, I do.

I assume he’s a he, I assume his owner loves him,
I assume my friend is coming back,
(milk, she said, just milk).

The man in the truck sits head down, cap down,
rolling a smoke, or checking his phone but
something’s not right. I watch.

I see the stripe on what I think is the man’s cap
turn into the collar on the dog,
and I realize it’s the dog in the truck, not a man in the truck,

it’s still the dog, like it’s still me, waiting,
only he moved over to the driver’s seat. If he’s a he.

I’ve confused a dog and a man. Oh god, I think,
I’m getting carbon monoxide poisoning from a faulty heat vent,

but that’s when my friend gets back in the car
with milk, bread, jello, toothpaste, laundry soap.

She begins a story about some guy at the checkout counter
as she backs the car away from the dog
and the truck and the doors and I’m suddenly sad now,

that churned-up-torn-inside-the-chest-feeling sad
because we’re leaving and I wish I hadn’t won,
I wish he’d won, but he didn’t, I won,

and he might not be a he, and I keep twisting, looking
back, hoping for a glimpse of the owner,

but no one’s walking toward the dog in the truck
who could get carbon monoxide poisoning,
and there’s nothing I can do

but watch as long as I can,
because I need to know that he’s all right,
because we were the same back there,
we were the same.

Hayden Saunier, How to Wear This Body (Terrapin Books, 2017)

Epiphany

 

On Epiphany day,
     we are still the people walking.
     We are still people in the dark,
          and the darkness looms large around us,
          beset as we are by fear,
                                        anxiety,
                                        brutality,
                                        violence,
                                        loss —
          a dozen alienations that we cannot manage.

We are — we could be — people of your light.
     So we pray for the light of your glorious presence
          as we wait for your appearing;
     we pray for the light of your wondrous grace
          as we exhaust our coping capacity;
     we pray for your gift of newness that
          will override our weariness;
     we pray that we may see and know and hear and trust
          in your good rule.

That we may have energy, courage, and freedom to enact
         your rule through the demands of this day.
         We submit our day to you and to your rule, with deep joy and high hope.

Walter Brueggemann, Prayers for a Privileged People (Abingdon, 2008)

Again, Again

On a day when the world
asks too much of me
and I don’t know how to give it,
I think of the squirrels
at the feeder when I was a girl.
 
Dad hung the feeder
on a squirrel-proof wire.
Dad set the feeder
on a squirrel-proof pole.
Squirrels found a way.
 
Surely there’s some squirrel in me,
some chattering tenacity,
some bushy-tailed resolve.
If I can’t be courageous and brave,
then let me at least be stubborn.
 
Surely inside this aching heart
is a scamperer willing to try again,
to try again, to meet disappointment
and failure and exhaustion
and try again, again.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, wordwoman.com, December 31, 2020 

Another Road

 

   Having been warned in a dream
              not to return to Herod,
              they left for their own country by another road.
                                          —Matthew 2.12


The star behind us, a new year rising,
just when we thought the search was over
and the treasure found, we hear a warning
to repent, to change our ways,
to embark on a new unknown
off the road where we're at home.

But we welcome it.
This old one was awful.
The year was hard, the way was rocky.
For all the danger and cruelty
we're glad not to return to
we give thanks for this gift, so needed, from God:
another road.

Thank you. We'll take it.

___________

Friends, I pray the new year brings you
stronger connection with the Divine,
deeper trust of your belovedness,
greater will to love,
and hearts more full of gratitude, wonder and joy.
Welcome, 2021.


Deep Blessings,
Steve Garnass-Holmes, unfoldinglight.net, December 31, 2020

When the Song of the Angels

 When the song of the angels is stilled,

When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and the princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace between brothers and sisters,
To make music in the heart.

Howard Thurman