Luke 15:31

"My son,” the father said, “you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.”

Lord, fill us today with

the breath of Your spirit.

Stretch our souls

past capacity,

and make room there

for empathy and compassion.

Give us an unquenchable

thirst for justice.

Fill us with Your Holy righteous fire.

Lord, sometimes it is so hard to breathe.

The air here is gray and polluted,

filled with hate and selfish anger.

The air is thick and heavy, dripping

with bitterness and resentment,

and it is impossible to breathe

and keep our spirits healthy.

Lord, we are Your heirs.

We are Your sole heirs,

Your soul heirs, blessed

to receive Your spirit

in the event of Your death.

We live today because You died.

We live today because You rose.

We live today because we know

to turn to You when we cannot breathe,

to turn to You when the world itself

gasps for breath and cries out in pain.

Fill us today, Lord, with Your breath.

Fill us today, Lord, with Your spirit.

Give us the strength to carry on.

Give us Your strength, Lord,

so that we may pick each other up,

lift each other up and walk in the way

of the Spirit, this day and always.

Amen.

John 11:35

Jesus wept.

Jesus wept

even knowing

that Lazarus

would rise again.

He wept.

He wept

with Mary

and with Martha.

He entered into—

He walked into—

He dove into—

their pain and shared

with them their grief

and now His.

He wept.

He wept

because He loved.

He grieved,

because in order

to grieve, you must

first love.

You cannot mourn

if you have never loved.

Lord, I weep.

I grieve for

friends and family

and all things lost.

And, as of late, Lord,

I weep for this world.

I weep for those who have lost—

everything.

I weep for those driven into

the ground by knee, by foot, by hate.

I weep for those who somehow don’t know

any better and wear ignorance like a badge.

I weep for those who have carried

their burden for so long, they have been

forced to their knees and told to crawl.

I weep for Your children, Lord.

I weep for my brothers and sisters

because I don’t know how to take

away their pain.  I only know how to pray.

I weep for the world, Lord,

and I know You weep with me,

because I know we both love this world,

and I know that like Lazarus,

this world will rise again,

but until then, I weep and I pray.

Amen.

Habakkuk 1:5

Look at the nations and watch—

    and be utterly amazed.
For I am going to do something in your days
    that you would not believe,
    even if you were told.

Lord, here in these woods—

these lovely, but dark

and oh so very deep woods—*

the mosquitoes dance

together, forming clouds

that buzz and hum with

a bloodlust battle cry.

The spiders drape their webs

over the bridge to dry

in the peeks of sun that find

their way through the canopy.

The air is heavy,

pregnant and swollen

with the promise of rain.

The air is both heavy and thin, Lord.

The veil between this world

and Yours has worn thin and soft;

it is almost see-through now

and I can feel—not quite see—

but feel Your presence now, here,

Lord in every living thing.

And You are doing something.

You are doing something new

that I am present for as You work,

as You sing Your own song of creation.

Winter is over.

Spring has fled.

And summer is here.

There is life.

Where once there was darkness

and nothing but gray and brown

shadows instead of trees,

where once there was silence

and mourning and fear that made

it impossible to breathe, now there

is an explosion of life,

of rich, green things

that grow so fast, I can feel

them creep over my feet

if I stand still for too long.

You are doing something amazing, Lord.

You are always doing something amazing.

And it feeds my soul to simply watch You at work.

Amen.

*Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

1 Peter 3:15

Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you ….

I have hope.

Such a beautiful thing.

And with it comes

the power to save,

the power to heal,

the power to thrive.

Hope.

The echo of faith.

The promise that God

is here now,

was with you

ten seconds ago,

and will be with you

for all eternity.

I can hold hope.

I can feel it,

my spiritual pacemaker,

providing that needed

burst of strength

to help me rise and move

throughout the day.

O taste and see

that the Lord is good. *

And oh how sweet

that hope tastes—

like chocolate chip cookies,

soaked in milk

and enjoyed at the kitchen

table with my dad

as a midnight snack

when worry would not let

me sleep—

Hope is sweet.

Hope is comfort.

Hope is love.

Hope is God’s presence,

His constant companionship,

His loving grace.

Hope.

Open the gift He has given you.

Amen.

*Psalm 34.8

Exodus 14:14

The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to keep still.

The Lord

will fight

for you.

Stop.

Pause.

Take a breath.

Let those words

sink in, and give

the roots time

to take hold.

The Lord

will fight

for you.

The Lord

has your back.

The Lord

is your shield.

The Lord

is your forever

Companion,

the One

who takes joy

in your joy,

the One who

weeps when

you weep,

the One who

never leaves,

who never abandons,

who’s always present.

The Lord.

And He will fight

for you.

He has claimed

you as His.

He is more

than Shepherd.

He is more

than Father.

He is God.

Now keep still

and breathe.

Breathe.

And let Him

fight for you.

Amen.

Psalm 139:17

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!

How precious to me

are Your thoughts, O Lord,

how precious to me

Your love.

My own love for You grows;

it blossoms and blooms in

the greenhouse that is my spirit.

But Lord, my greenhouse,

my spirit, is a fragile place

and vulnerable to storms.

It shakes on its foundation

when the winds around it roar.

It groans and gasps

as the rains lash its windows.

And it grows dark, turns inward on

itself, when the skies darken with clouds.

Know my fear, Lord,

and know my love.

Reach out Your hand

and guard Your love.

Reach out Your hand

and save my spirit.

For I know that as precious as

You are to me, I am even more

precious to You.

Amen.

Psalm 112:4,8

They rise in the darkness as a light for the upright ….

Their hearts are steady, they will not be afraid ….

Steady our spirits, Lord,

as we take our first steps

into this new season

after such a long winter

and an absent spring.

Let us rise, Lord,

in the only way we can,

with Your hands lifting us up

and setting us on the path.

Let us rise, Lord,

out of the darkness

and let us shine, Lord

as a light to the world.

Let us be filled, Lord

with a new purpose

and let that purpose

strengthen us and carry us

when the world’s suffering

is too much for us to bear.

Let us rise

and let us walk,

with fresh legs,

as keepers of Your light,

living beacons to a world

still shrouded in despair.

We will walk together

with our neighbors,

our brothers and sisters,

and when we stumble,

and when we fall,

we will pull each other up,

and we will continue

the path together.

Our light will grow and glow

with the intensity of the sun,

and the world will take notice

and put down their fears,

their anger and hatred and join

us finally on the journey home.

Amen.

Psalm 103:20-22

Bless the Lord, O you his angels,

    you mighty ones who do his bidding,
    obedient to his spoken word.
 Bless the Lord, all his hosts,
    his ministers that do his will.
Bless the Lord, all his works,
    in all places of his dominion.
Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Bless Him, O you angels,

o you birds of the sky,

you white-winged seraphim,

trumpeting the rising sun.

Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Bless Him, O you hosts,

you who love the earth,

you who, not only sow

the seeds, but tend to them,

tend to the fragile plants,

to the pale green shoots

that emerge from the darkened

soil, stretching to the light.

Bless you, who love the earth,

who sit by its waters,

who close your eyes to the sun,

who whisper to the wind

who you know knows your name.

Bless you and bless the Lord.

Bless Him, all His works,

all you raging waters,

al you storm-tossed waves,

all you still lakes and backwoods creeks.

Bless Him, all you winds,

sweeping across the fields,

darting between the trees,

playing your music among the leaves.

Bless Him, all you mountains,

rising, towering above the earth,

for you alone have seen His face

and kissed His cheek goodnight.

Bless Him, all you stars,

the firstborn of all creation,

the first light and the first dawn,

the seed that formed us all.

Bless Him, all you living things,

all you who draw breath,

all you whose heart still beats.

Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Amen.

Psalm 66:16

Come and hear, all you who fear God.

    I will declare what he has done for my soul.

Lord, I remember when I was young

that I would jump at the shadows

that filled my room at night.

I remember that surge of adrenaline,

that tightness in my chest and throat.

I remember teddy bears

that grew to be monsters

and closet doors that could not hold back

the black, oozing, shadow-creatures.

Nothing, no light, no nightlight,

no puny token lighthouse

in the dark storm of night,

could drive those monsters away.

But then my mother told me,

as she pulled up the covers on my bed,

that there was something more

than just shadows in my room.

There were angels,

one there,

and one there,

and one over there,

one for each corner,

four more in the closet,

and one guarding

the bedroom door.

There were angels

to watch over me,

and there was You, Lord.

You were there, too.

I even made a space for You

next to me in my bed.

You were the only security

blanket I ever needed.

But now, even though I no

longer fear whatever monsters

may be lurking under my bed,

I find that I still need You.

For as long as there is night,

there will be shadows,

and as long as there are clouds,

there will be rain and storms.

I need You, Lord, still

to rescue me from my fears,

to light up my room not just at night,

but in all times when the darkness

clouds my vision and leaves me

to wander lost among my grief.

You are my light, Lord.

You are the light

I carry with me,

the light in my soul

that never flickers,

that never fades,

the light that obliterates

and shatters the darkness.

You are my Savior, my Rescuer,

my Holy Redeemer.

Amen.

Psalm 96:11-12

Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice.
    Let the sea roar, and its fullness!  
Let the field and all that is in it exult!
    Then all the trees of the woods shall sing for joy…. 

This morning, I will wake,

and I will sing.

I will make a joyful noise

and I will bless Your holy name.

I will sing—wait, no—

not this morning.

This morning, I will wake,

and I will listen.

I will sit in the darkness

and listen and wait

for the world to sing,

for the world to find

its voice, to find its hymn,

to unleash its joy and let

it run free and unbound.

I will wait.

I will rise

and I will wait.

This morning, I will wait at the beach.

I will wait for the ocean’s hymn.

I will put my hand

to the ground and let

my fingers sink into the sand.

I will wait for that rumble,

for that buildup as the ocean

waves slam into the shore,

and then retreat—

and pull back.

I will let the water

pool around my feet

and tickle my toes.

Just wait, the ocean speaks.

Just wait.

And then it comes again,

the voice, the song,

riding the white-capped waves.

This is the ocean’s hymn.

This is how it sings Your praise, Lord.

This is how it thunders.

This is how it roars.

This is how it lives its song.

This is how it gives testimony

to Your great strength, Lord.

And then—when it pulls back again,

when the waters still,

when the wind calm and the sun sets,

the ocean still sings,

but this time, this time

its hymn is a lullaby.

And this is how the ocean

gives testimony not just

to Your great strength, Lord,

but also to Your grace

and gentleness and peace.

This is the ocean’s hymn.

Amen.

Psalm 34:8

O taste and see that the Lord is good.

Lord, I walk into Your morning,

sometimes sprinting,

sometimes stumbling

into Your day, but always

moving Lord, leaving the sunrise

behind me and setting sights

on the sunset down the road.

I live for Your world, Lord.

I live for all the ways

it embraces me, holds me.

I live for rainy days.

I live for the smell of rain,

I live for the air so thick

and rich with the promise

of rain that the birds above

cease to fly and begin to swim.

I live for sound, Lord,

for the laughter of the roofers,

for the language they speak

that sings, for the music, for the pop

of the nail gun and whine of the drill.

I live for the smell

of freshly cut lumber,

of the wood that takes me

back to my childhood

and puts me in the craft

room with my mother

as she takes out a piece

of raw pine, still sticky and yellow

with sap in parts and begins

to paint her scenes,

to paint life and freeze moments

to paint movement and freeze it still.

I live for the seconds, Lord,

not the minutes, not the hours,

but the seconds, the flashes

of life, the flashes of You,

the flashes of light, gone

in an instant but remaining,

lingering for seconds after,

as an afterimage,

the shadow of Your presence.

Oh Lord, even Your shadow

holds life and meaning

and purpose and all the secrets

and answers to the ponderings

of the child’s heart within me.

Oh Lord, I live for this.

Amen.

Fear Into Faith

In my dreams

I am running,

and when I wake

I ask myself,

“Who was I running from?”

And then God whispers

to me in that breath

between sleep and woke,

when He knows

I can hear Him best,

You are asking

the wrong question.

Not—

Who am I running from?

But—

Who am I running to?

And just like that

a nightmare turns,

and hope slips

free from the darkness.

Fear turns into faith.

And I am ready

to embrace the day.

Amen.

Don't Hit the Panic Button Yet

The other day, I unlocked my front door and opened it to step inside and immediately, my little black cat, Pippin darted outside.

Now Pippin is not an outdoor cat.  It’s not that he wants to go outside that badly; it’s that he just hates closed doors and feels compelled to check out whatever’s on the other side—like I’m holding out on him.

Fortunately, he hasn’t learned to run from me yet, so I quickly snatched him up, trying to juggle both him and my keys to get him back in the condo.

And just then, someone’s car alarm went off.

So now I’m not holding a cat, I’m holding Edward Scissorclaws, this exploding, terrorized mass of fur and claws.

Finally, I’m able to toss him into the entryway and slam the door closed behind him.

He’s inside.

I’m still outside. 

Why am I still outside?

Because that car alarm is still going off and as I make my way down the stairs to check, I can see that … yep, it’s my car.

When I was wrestling with Pippin, I had accidentally hit the panic button on the key fob.

It’s funny, but we seem to be living in a world right now where everyone—everyone—has hit the panic button.

This pandemic, the weeks of self-quarantine, the 24/7 news coverage—all of it has made us a bit crazy.

I mean we’re hoarding toilet paper.

I went to Target last week and the one thing I really love about Target these days is that they put all their toilet paper and paper towels and water right up there by the front entrance so that it’s not like Black Friday with customers racing each other to the far aisles in the back of the store.

On this particular day, I was shocked to see three containers of Clorox wipes sitting on top of the paper towels.  I quickly grabbed one, not because I needed one, but because wipes are almost impossible to find, and I figured I would offer the container to a friend in need.

Five minutes later, I walked down the cereal aisle and saw a woman asking an employee if there were any wipes available.  The woman did not have a cart.  She was wearing a mask and gloves and looked like—honestly, she looked like all of us right now—frazzled and frantic and probably in need of a haircut.

She looked at me and saw the wipes in my cart and asked me where I had found them.

I stared back at her and said, “Hey, I don’t really need mine.  If you need them, please take them.”

Her eyebrows shot up—we live in a world right now where, thanks to masks, we only have the eyes to fill us in on any non-verbal communication—and she said to me, “Really?”

I nodded.  “Yeah, if you need them, take them,” and I took a step back so she could take them from my cart without violating any social distancing.

She was stunned, but she took them and headed back to the front of the store, but she had only taken a few steps when she turned back around and said, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” I said.

We are all so fragile right now.

Our worlds have been turned upside-down.

Everything we once took for granted—from the small stuff, like toilet paper, to the larger things like our health and our jobs, our homes and being able to feed our families—we can’t count on any of these things. 

Nothing is guaranteed.

But here’s the thing, nothing has ever been guaranteed.  This is not new information.

Tomorrow has never been promised to us.

Life is impermanent.  All these things we treasure—they do not last.

There is a poem by Jesuit priest Gerard Manley Hopkins called “Spring and Fall” that addresses this. It reads:

Márgarét, áre you gríeving

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leáves like the things of man, you

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

Ah! ás the heart grows older

It will come to such sights colder

By and by, nor spare a sigh

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;

And yet you wíll weep and know why.

Now no matter, child, the name:

Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed

What heart heard of, ghost guessed:

It ís the blight man was born for,

It is Margaret you mourn for.

Let me see if I can give you a rough translation.  The speaker here finds a small child crying over the leaves that are falling off the tree in autumn.  He then tells the child, Margaret, that she is crying because the falling leaves have revealed something important to her.  Nothing lives forever.  He tells her that as she gets older, it will matter less to her, but that for now, she is not crying over the leaves, she’s crying because now she knows that all things die, including herself.

Our psalm for today, Psalm 102, also addresses the impermanence of life.  In verse 3, “My days pass away like smoke,” and later in verse 11, “My days are like an evening shadow; I wither away like grass.”

The speaker here is despondent, heartbroken and suffering and keenly aware of his own mortality.

But then the psalm shifts tone and in verse 12 says, “But you, O Lord, are enthroned forever; your name endures to all generations.”

Nothing last forever … except … God.

He is enthroned forever.

His name endures for all generations.

Though we may die, God lives.

God is our constant—though the rest of world may be spinning away in chaos, God is our rock.  He is unchanging.  He is our anchor in the storm.

In today’s reading from John, we hear several lines that should be very well known to us even if we have never read the Bible.  Surely John 8:32 sounds familiar to you.  It reads, “You will know the truth and the truth will make you free.”

Truth, much like toilet paper, seems to be in short supply these days.  A five second scroll through Facebook will show you that.

But the truth that Jesus refers to here is a different kind of truth.

What is this truth?

Well, it’s not a “what,” it’s actually a “who.”

Who is truth?

Read the verse again and then simply replace “truth” with “Jesus.” 

You will know Jesus and Jesus will make you free.

Jesus actually says these words just a few verses later in verse 36, “So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”

Jesus is the truth.

He is the only truth we need.

He is the only truth we can count on.

Again, in a world where everyone has pressed the panic button and there are 7.5 billion alarms screaming at us, it is Jesus, it is God, we must turn to.

He is permanent.  His love for us is permanent.  His love for us will never change.  He is our hope.  His is the hand that reaches out and pulls us closer to Him, to offer shade from the sun and cover in the storm.

Nothing in this world lasts forever.

Except God and His love for us.

Amen.

This is the New Morning

This Lord,

this morning,

this feels like

a new morning.

This feel like

a new beginning,

a new start, unused,

fresh from the package.

The tears

I cried were

for yesterday.

The Hope

and Joy I feel

are for today.

Lord, I pray

that You keep

Hope alive.

I pray that even

on days when there

is not enough Joy to

keep the flame burning,

that there will

always be enough

of Your Good News

to coax and spark

that ember of Hope

back to life.

Lord, You are enough.

You are all I need.

You are the One I cling to.

You are the One I follow,

the one who lifts me up so

that I do not trip or stumble.

You lead me

from the sunset

to the sunrise.

You weep with me,

during those dark nights,

You hold me.

You stay with me.

You do not let me go.

Though I may sleep,

You neither slumber nor sleep.

You stay up with me through the night,

and then you gently

wake me with Your own

tears of joy as the sun rises

on a new morning.

This is the new morning

You have promised us Lord.

Open our eyes so that we can see.

Wake us now from our troubled dreams.

This is the beginning.

Amen.

Psalm 121

A Mother's Love

Lord, love us,

and let us love

with a mother’s love,

with a divine love.

Let us love

with a love

that is patient.

Let us love

with a love

that is kind.

Give us

the strength

to give way,

to step aside,

to sacrifice

and expect

nothing

in return.

Let us love

with a love

that never shouts.

Rather let us love

with a love that sings.

Let us love

with a love

that stands with

us in the storm.

Let us love

with a love

that endures.

Let us love, Lord,

with hope,

that same hope

that loved us first

when we were still

and then kicking

in the womb.

Love us, Lord,

and let us love

with a mother’s love,

the closest to divine

love we will ever see.

Amen.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

The Cares of My Heart

Lord, teach me

how to be

quiet and still

in a world that seems

to be, these days,

nothing but noise.

Lord, show me

how to silence

the sirens of fear.

Give me the strength to

evict the voices of anger

and apathy from my heart.

Let me instead

make room,

let me instead

welcome in,

let me instead

pull up a chair,

for You, Lord.

Please sit with me

for a while—or forever.

We don’t have to talk.

We can just sit.

Your very presence

is consolation enough.

For it is only in Your presence

that my soul finds the air to breathe.

Amen.

Psalm 94:19