Psalm of Lament (for Fran, Lori, and Mary Love)

Lord, you are present in all things;

you are the God of love.

But Lord, where have you been?

A young mother has died, leaving her newborn daughter,

one woman lies ill and suffering while

another one, so dear to us, has died.

Women lie ill and suffering— dying all around us.

Those we love have passed into your presence.

Our grief and suffering overwhelms us—

all day and night, we weep and ache.

Why?

And yet, your creation envelopes us

in miracles, small and large.

We wake each morning in your love;

you renew our spirits.

O God, comfort us—

comfort Tom and his and Fran’s daughters;

comfort Dayton, Wright, Levi, and Lily.

Sustain them while they grieve.

Weave memories of Fran and Lori

into the fabric of all of our grief.

Give Mary Love’s doctors wisdom.

Surround her, Jason, and the children with strength.

Let all those caring for her be immersed in your light.

Nurture this family as a mother hen protects her chicks.

We praise you, O God, for your might and wisdom

are so far beyond our understanding.

Let our hearts take courage;

we believe we will see the goodness of the Lord

in the land of the living,

and we will wait for you, O God.

Amen.

Come and See

(From the Way of Grace by Upper Room Books)

John 1:35-51

Where Do I “Live”?

Explore where you tend to “live” on a daily basis. List the feelings, hopes, anxieties, or expectations that have shaped your life recently. (Clues as to where you “dwell” inwardly may be found in what you “dwell on.”)

Try sketching an image of this “dwelling place” (face with a smile or frown, overcrowded calendar, a peaceful scene, etc.). Add descriptive words if you wish.

Reflect on unresolved matters in your life, such as deep hopes and concerns or unrealized aspirations.  List a few of these and beside each write a word describing what you see in order to resolve it (clarity, peace, fulfillment, justice, etc.)

Holy Saturday Meditation

I was dreaming that I was treading the streets of the

Holy City, pottering about like a tourist.  In my

wandering, I came upon the museum of that city of

our dream.  I went in, and a courteous attendant

conducted me round.  There was some old armour

there, much bruised with battle.  Many things were

conspicuous by their absence.  I saw nothing

of Alexander’s, nor of Napoleon’s.  There was no Pope’

ring, nor even the ink-bottle that Luther is said to

have thrown at the devil, nor Wesley’s seal and keys.

I saw a widow’s mite and the feather of a little bird.

I saw some swaddling clothes, a hammer, and three

nails, and a few thorns.  I saw a bit of a fishing-net

and the broken oar of a boat.  I saw a sponge that had

once been dipped in vinegar, and a small piece of

silver.  But I cannot enumerate all I saw, nor describe

all I felt.  Whilst I was turning over a common

drinking cup which had a very honourable place, I

whispered to the attendant, ‘Have you not got a towel

and basin among your collection?’ ‘No,’ he said, ‘not

here; you see they are in constant use.’  Then I knew I

was in Heaven, in the Holy City, and amid the redeemed society.

Knowing that He came from God, and went to God

. . . . Jesus took a towel and basin.

A.E. Whitham

I am

I am, you anxious one. Don’t you sense me, ready to break into being at your touch?

My murmurings surround you like shadow wings.

Can’t you see me standing before you cloaked in stillness?

Hasn’t my longing ripened in you from the beginning as fruit ripens on a branch?

I am the dream you are dreaming.

When you want to awaken, I am that wanting:

I grow strong in the beauty you behold.

And with the silence of stars I enfold your cities made by time.

— Ranier Maria Rilke

Awful Grace of God

Aeschylus writes:

In our sleep,

pain which cannot forget falls

drop by drop upon the heart until

in our own despair,

against our will,

comes wisdom

through the awful grace of God.

Miracle & Grace*

“Part of what it means to believe in God, at least part of what it means for me, is to believe in the possibility of miracle, and because of a variety of circumstances I had a very strong feeling at that moment that the time was ripe for miracles, my life was ripe for miracle, and the very strength of the feeling itself seemed a kind of vanguard of miracle.  Something was going to happen— something extraordinary that I could perhaps even see or hear— and I was so nearly sure of it that in retrospect I am surprised that by the power of autosuggestion I was unable to make it happen.  But the sunshine was too bright, the air too clear, some residual skepticism in myself too sharp to make it possible to imagine ghosts among the apple trees or voices among the yellow jackets, and nothing like what I expected happened at all.”

“This might easily have been the end of something for me— my faith exposed as superstition which in part I suppose it is, my most extravagant hope exposed as childish which in part I suppose it is—but it was not the end.  Because something other than what I expected did happen.  Those apple branches knocked against each other, went clack-clack.  No more.  No less.  ‘The dry clack-clack of the world’s tongue at the approach of the approach of splendor.’  And this is the substance of what I want to talk about:  the clack-clack of my lift.  The occasional, obscure glimmering through of grace.  The muffled presence of the holy.  The images, always broken, partial, ambiguous, of Christ.  If a vision of Christ, then a vision such as those two stragglers had at Emmaus at suppertime:  just the cracking of crust as the loaf came apart in his hands ragged and white before in those most poignant words of all scripture, ‘He vanished from their sight”— whoever he was, whoever they were. Whoever we are.”

Have you found yourself in that place of expectation of miracle?  Have you heard the dry clack-clack of the world’s tongue at the approach of the approach of splendor?  Come, Lord Jesus, come to us in this new year.

Happy 2011— Pam

*From “The Alphabet of Grace” by Frederick Buechner

A Covenant for the New Year

I bind unto myself this day

the strong name of the Trinity.

I humbly praise the aweful name:

the Three in One, the One in Three,

of whom all nature hath creation—

eternal Father, Spirit, Word.

Praise to the God of my salvation!

Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

I bind this day to me for ever

by power of faith:  Christ’s incarnation,

His baptism in the Jordan river,

His death on the cross for my salvation.

His bursting from the spiced tomb,

His riding up the heavenly way,

His coming on the day of doom,

I bind unto myself today.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,

Christ behind me, Christ before me,

Christ to comfort and restore me.

Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,

Christ in hearts of all that love me,

Christ be with me this day.

(From “A Covenant Service” in

Celtic Daily Prayer

Open Hands

To pray means to open your hands before God.  It means slowly relaxing the tension which squeezes your hands together and accepting your existence with an increasing readiness, not as a possession to defend, but as a gift to receive.  Above all, therefore, prayer is a way of life which allows you to find a stillness in the midst of the world where you open your hands to God’s promises, and find hope for yourself, your fellow congregation members, and the whole community in which you live.

— Henri J.M. Nouwen

Come True Light

Come true light.

Come eternal life.

Come hidden mystery.

Come nameless treasure.

Come Ineffable One.

Come Inconceivable One.

Come endless rejoicing.

Come Sun that never sets.

Come true hope of all who wish to be saved.

Come awakening of all who sleep.

Come resurrection of the dead.

Come Powerful One who ever creates and recreates and transfigures, by your simple will.

Come Invisible One beyond all touch or grasping.

Come eternally Motionless One, ever active to come to us and save us who lie in Hell.

Come beloved name repeated everywhere whose existence and nature we cannot express or

know.

Come eternal joy.

Come untarnished crown.

Come royal purple of our great King and God.

Come jeweled belt of shining crystal.

Come unapproachable sandal.

Come imperial vestment.

Come sovereign right hand.

Come Lord whom my miserable soul has longed for, and longs for still.

Come Solitary One, to this solitary, for as you see I am all alone.

Come, for you have alienated me from all things, and made me be alone in this world.

Come, you who have become my desire, and have made me desire you, the Inaccessible One.

Come, my breath, my life.

Come, consolation of my poor soul.

Come, my joy, my glory, my endless delight.

For I must give you all my thanks for making yourself one with me in spirit.*

* Fr. McGuckin

Connecting

With good thoughts about our prayerful progress — MM