shall we strike with a sword?

Shall we strike with a sword?
Shall we crucify, terrify, vilify, war?
Shall we wound with our words?
Shall we seethe?
Shall we shame?

Shall we strike with a sword
or a fist
or a chain?
Shall we make them submit to our rule?
Shall we reign?

Shall we strike with a sword?
Shall we live by it, die by it,
crown it our god?

Shall we bow? Shall we break
every bow that we've made?
Shall we love a more excellent way?

Compellingly uncoerced,
casting out fear. Lay down arms,
forge new tools in the fire that consumes
every dross and illumines strange paths.
Plowshares strike only soil: till our hearts,
may the verdant grow wild.

image source

Found: A Story of Questions, Grace & Everyday Prayer

I met Micha Boyett the first time I attended the Festival of Faith and Writing in 2012. I'd long admired her blog writing and enjoyed hearing firsthand about her book project, which although mostly drafted, was far from making its way out into the world.

Just two years later, at that same conference, I had my own copy of her published work in hand and was able to congratulate her in person. Found: A Story of Questions, Grace & Everyday Prayeris one of the loveliest books I read last year. It's partly about finding a home in the rhythms of the liturgical year, which is why She Loves Magazine chose it for their book club during Lent this March.

I enjoyed the beautiful writing and resonated with Micha's struggle to find meaning in the lonely ordinariness of young motherhood, particularly after the harried pace and purpose of professional ministry. Others would certainly connect with the perfectionist anxieties she documents and her search for peace in God apart from the try-hard faith of her youth.

It's a book about an honest and at times uncertain faith with deep roots and room enough to breathe, grieve, and celebrate big joys and little victories. If you want to read along with She Loves, they've got a Facebook group and they'll be talking about it on March 25 at the site. Happy reading.

a way in the wilderness

This is my body, broken:

pierced and bleeding, shrouded
in darkness and alone

Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?

Father-forsaken, the Light recedes.  

Rocks cry out, the curtain tears,
brave women do not flee.

This is my Body, broken:

my radiant Church lies 
pierced and bleeding, wounded 
by friendly-fire burn

This sickness shall not end in death

The dead are raised, the blind will see and 
you, love, shall be healed (only say the Word).

You are No Longer Deserted, re-created, 
the very image of God

See, I am making a way in the wilderness,

streams in the wasteland

Hephzibah, my delight: rend your heart 
and not your garments. Rend your heart 
and not your brother. Every blood
soaked strand is fuel for the fire

Take off the grave clothes

Put on the new self and arise. Only
love will bind my Church in perfect unity.

Bind up the brokenhearted and return 
to me, the Spirit poured-out-still.

There is one Body and one Spirit; to 
one hope were you called. At 
one Table we celebrate your redemption

As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you

I Am the Word, calling 
life from formless void.

I Am the Truth, revealing

the invisible God is Love.

Unbound, embody your blessing:

light up the darkness, Beloved.

Do this in remembrance of me

Reworked from the archives, for weary hearts. Image: purolipan

come on now, sugar

It was a long winter. My son weaned in June, but I ate like I was still nursing or pregnant or in my twenties like I was when the baby season began. For six years my body was not my own: stretching, retching, rocking, soothing, and nourishing someone else's. It returned to me, finally, but I don't recognize myself in photos.

It was a long winter. It's Eastertide, but daffodils won't bloom when snow still swirls and they know better. When we tapped trees last year, the weather warmed, and we were boiling syrup thick and sweet by February's end. This year, the maples fill buckets into April.

It was a long winter. The kids were sick, Jim traveled, and I drank coffee for breakfast and forgot to eat proper meals. It was dark, grey and white, and there were days we never changed out of our pajamas. The kids fought, and I yelled, and I ate to cheer myself up, because apparently, I am a person who does that. Maybe I always did, and it's just now catching up.

I want to fit into my clothes without projecting jacked up habits and hang-ups onto my daughter. I want to nourish me again and be nourished. I want to be well.

So I go back to Zumba and remember why I never danced on stage for all my roommates' culture nights in college. I remember, and I smile, because there is no audience here. I jumble steps, and I'm breathing fast, hips swinging, booty shaking, enjoying my own body and my kindness to it.

It was a long winter, but it's Eastertide. Life flows through the trees and in my veins, and I'll not search for the living among the dead.

to love is to serve is to liberate

When Jesus removed his outer garment and knelt to wash his followers' dusty, dirty feet, it was a profound act of humility.

Taking the very nature of a servant

To love is to serve, to bow low that others may be honored. To set aside power that the humble may be exalted.

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.

Christ's love risked personal discomfort, community dissension, and his own life.

 he humbled himself
    by becoming obedient to death—
        even death on a cross!

But the Christian story does not fade out on one humble man's unjust execution. It is not a tale of submission as an end in itself or a pie-in-the-sky gospel of get-along, wait it out, it gets better, suffer, sisters!

It was just before the Passover Festival. 

The foot washing, Last Supper, and Christ's arrest happen in the context of celebrating the Israelites' liberation from slavery in Egypt. Jesus serves his friends and submits to death not because he is compelled, but because he is free, demonstrating that the power of God and Love is greater than the power of empire or anything else. He

did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage

Christ's humility and service honored a God who liberates the oppressed, breaking every literal and metaphoric chain. To love is to serve is to liberate. "On the night he was handed over to suffering and death, our Lord Jesus Christ..."

showed them the full extent of his love.

Jesus wasn't a nice guy or martyr but a servant-leader. His service was radical for the way he laid down his own authority. His ministry consistently upended cultural norms, transgressing myriad religious, ethnic, gender, and class barriers. His love is inextricable entwined with the laying down of power and the lifting up the vulnerable, lowly, and despised.

having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross.

With one empty tomb, Jesus demolished hierarchies, humiliating the oppressive religious and political powers that hung him naked and bleeding to a tree. He subverted their symbols of dominance and shame, exposing their blood thirst and impotence by his own humility, forgiveness, and resurrecting, all-things-made-new power.

To love is to serve is to liberate. Christ washing his disciples' feet hearkens back to the exodus and ahead to the cross and empty tomb. 

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.

Yes, we are called to deny ourselves and pick up our own crosses but never to nail each other up on one. To follow Jesus is to tread the way of suffering and death all the way to Sunday, when old yokes shattered and a new day dawned. 

We are an Easter people. Christ is risen and his Kingdom comes, on earth as it is in heaven. The last are first, the dead are raised, and all things shall be healed. In his Name all oppression shall cease. 

We'll follow Jesus down the path of servanthood, flattened hierarchies, and radical love. We'll follow him into repentance, freedom, and resurrecting life. 

Our strengths, weaknesses, experiences, privileges, and perspectives are unique, so we won't bind each other to the specific, personal ways we discern God's leading in our own lives. We'll seek unity without uniformity, but never on the backs of brothers and sisters who are hurting. We won't agree on everything but will hold our tongues from crying, "Peace, peace," when there is no peace.

It's a hard and hallowed path, but we're in this together as family, co-laborers, pilgrims, prophets, priests, ministers, reconcilers, servant-leaders, and friends. We are God's workmanship, Christ's Body and Bride: uniquely gifted, irrevocably called, assuredly beloved, and free indeed.

darkness came over the whole land

“Shall I crucify your king?” Pilate asked. 

“We have no king but Caesar!”

He did not open his mouth. See him there, bruised and beaten. A man of suffering, familiar with pain. We esteemed him not.

“Hail, king of the Jews! 

“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

I have a Lenten meditation this Good Friday over at Jennifer Luitwieler's site today. Click here to read the whole thing.

burying the alleluia & signs of repentance

At the Episcopal church where we worship, lent is a penitential season. The liturgy is somber, and on the last Sunday before Ash Wednesday, we bury the alleluia. The children letter and decorate posters, and the alleluia is interred until Easter, absent until it leads us again into the celebration of resurrection.

Alleluia means "praise the Lord," and it is an expression of joy. During lent, we do not fast from praise, certainly, but as Jesus fasted forty days in the wilderness in preparation for ministry, lent is similarly a sobering time, characterized by asceticism to prepare our own hearts for the weight of the cross and significance of Easter.

Had I been able to find the liturgy online, I would have linked, but instead I transcribed it here from Sunday's bulletin.

The Burial of the Alleluia

Celebrant: 
I heard a great voice of many people in heaven saying, Alleluia:Salvation and glory and honor and power be to the Lord our God. And again they said, Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

People:
Alleluia! The Lord does reign! He is clothed with majesty. Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! 

Celebrant:
There is a time to laugh and a time to weep. A time to dance and a time to mourn. As we enter the season of Lent, bring forth acts that are suitable signs of repentance. Remember that the sacrifices of God are a humble spirit. It is a humble and contrite heart that God does not despise.

Until the day when Christ's resurrection is celebrated with joy and gladness, we commit our joyful ALLELUIA to God who gave it.

Let us pray (in unison)
O God, look with favor on your people gathered here. We know that we have sinned and deserve your punishment, yet we look to you for mercy. Spare us, as you have spared your people in the past. During Lent, help us to reorder our lives so that others can see your presence. We ask this in Christ's name. Amen.

Happy are the dead who die in the faith of Christ! Henceforth, says the Spirit, they may rest from their labors. So says the church of its ALLELUIA.

Today it dies until with Christ it rises at his glorious resurrection. When he died, he dies to sin, once and for all. Living as he lives, he lives to God. In the same way you must regard yourselves as dead to sin and alive to God, in union with Christ Jesus. Amen.

People:
Amen!

Anyone hitting up a Shrove Tuesday pancake supper? I'm a little sad our church isn't hosting one this year, but 'tis the season for fire hall Friday fish fries, an admittedly huge highlight for me in these grey, late winter weekends.

Jen Luitwieler is kicking off a series of lenten reflections this week, and Margaret Feinburg is reading the WHOLE BIBLE over the next forty days. (Read more and download her Wonderstruck by Scripture here.) Kirsten Oliphant's Consider the Cross: Devotions for Lent is 2.99 for e-readers. Kris Camealy has a free lenten e-book available, Mason ties lent to resisting consumerism, and Kamille mediated on Isaiah 58 last year.

Do you observe Lent in your church, family, or community? We enjoy soup suppers and compline services, and our church is going through Scot McKnight's 40 Days Living the Jesus Creed together. I also am continually challenged and nourished by Bread And Wine: Readings For Lent And Easter, The Divine Hours: Prayers for Springtime, and Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals.

Do you have any favorite prayer books, practices, or resources for lent? Some fast from certain habits or indulgences, while others "take on" other devotional, spiritual, or ascetic practices. The season begins Ash Wednesday this week, and I'd love to hear what's stirring your heart.

of resurrection & cobwebs

hope bursts green through untended earth, and sun beckons dirty windows open. we plan a family ride, but my bike is somewhere in new jersey.

resurrection's in the air and cobwebs, too.

ten chicks, all black feathers and down, pile together in a basin in the bathroom.  their cheeps melt hearts and betray uncertainty all the same.

the insurance company covered the theft, but the money went to groceries, pre-school, and life.  we'll replace it yet.  spring only just begins.

a heavy heart finds solace in the liturgical year.  this penitent season, the now-and-not-yet, mirrors stirrings unmatched by the beauty out-of-doors.

there's beauty in hard places, too, She whispers.

i lean in and breathe deep.

shared with Just Write.

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bid me come and die

...The status quo is too alluring. It is the air we breathe, the food we eat, the six-thirty news, our institutions, theologies, and politics. The only way we shall break its hold on us is to be transferred to another dominion, to be cut loose from our old certainties, to be thrust under the flood and then pulled forth fresh and newborn. Baptism takes us there.

On the bank of some dark river, as we are thrust backward, onlookers will remark, "They could kill sombody like that." To which old John might say, "Good, you're finally catching on."

William Willimon.  Excerpted from "Repent," On A Wild and Windy Mountain. Appears in Bread And Wine: Readings For Lent And Easter.
{image source}

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the landscape of our dreams {common prayer}

We walk in the company of the women who have gone before, mothers of the faith both named and unnamed,

testifying with ferocity and faith to the Spirit of wisdom and healing.

They are the judges, the prophets, the martyrs, the warriors, the poets, lovers, and saints

who are near to us in the shadow of awareness, in the crevices of memory, in the landscape of our dreams.

We walk in the company of Deborah,

who judged the Israelites with authority and strength.

We walk in the company of you whose names have been lost and silenced,

who kept and cradled wisdom with the ages.

We walk in the company of the woman with the flow of blood,

who audaciously sought her healing and release.

We walk in the company of Julian of Norwich,

who wed imagination and theology, proclaiming "All shall be well."

We walk in the company of Sojourner Truth,

who stood against oppression, righteously declaring "Ain't I a woman!'

We walk in the company of you mothers of the faith,

who teach us to resist evil with boldness, to lead with wisdom, and to heal.

 Amen.

{Excerpted from A Litany to Honor Women in Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals}

It's exceedingly difficult to find a good devotional, isn't it?  I read My Utmost for His Highest throughout college, and ever since, I've been on the look-out for something else that is substantial, preferably with directed bible readings.  Yesterday I mentioned my favorite advent reader, Watch for the Light.  It's lenten companion, Bread and Wine is just as good, but I was still hunting for something to read year-round.

This year I finally found a keeper:  Common Prayer, quoted above, written and compiled by Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove and Enuma Okoro.  Zondervan sent me a copy during lent, and I fell instantly in love with its daily rhythms.  There is something about liturgy that resonates in that place where deep calls to deep.  Much research, time and love went into this treasure of tradition bridged into the present and a faith-lived-out.

Every month's introduction features a Mark of New Monastacism [reconciliation, creation care, peacemaking, common life, etc].  Each day has a unique morning reading including call and response liturgy, a song, psalm, Old and New Testament readings, a prayer and a benediction.  There is often a short paragraph about that day in history or a saint feast that coincides.  Common Prayer also includes one daily midday prayer and seven evening ones to alternate among each week.

I tend to read just the morning prayer if I'm in the habit.  I read more during lent and will probably throughout advent, too.  Sometimes Jim or the kids read with me, and I hope to share that more.

The back of the book has prayers and liturgies for many occasions in life together.  Finding A Litany to Honor Women yesterday, of which I only quoted part, was a welcome breath of poetic, prophetic fresh air, especially after difficult conversations we'd been having here and elsewhere about women in the church.

The hardcover is beautiful and solid with a ribbon to mark a place.  Daily readings are also posted online, if you want to get a better sense of what it's like and jump into reading today.

May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you : wherever he may send you;

may he guide you through the wilderness : protect you through the storm;

may he bring you home rejoicing : at the wonders he has shown you;

may he bring you home rejoicing : once again into our doors.

What readings are encouraging your heart lately?  Do you come from a liturgical background, or like me, have you been drawn to it as an adult?  If you have kids, what do you read with them?  I've heard great things about the Jesus Storybook Bible, and I think we'll get it for Christmas. 

Zondervan provided me with a copy, but my high praise is gratis:)

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love to light a night devoid of stars

{love note}

lent found me meditating a bit on non-violence and the upside-down Kingdom of God. the story of Jesus' arrest in the garden haunted me in a way it hadn't in previous readings.

the disciples, unwilling to watch and pray with their troubled friend, are willing to fight the armed crowd that arrives later to take Jesus by force. Jesus rebukes his followers for raising their swords and submits to arrest--and ultimately the cross.

although they may have been willing to fight to the death, none wish to follow Jesus down the path he is obedient to walk.  every last disciple flees, willing to do for Jesus the things he does not ask but none of those he does.

in a moment of honesty, i realized that i too was running in the opposite direction: clinging to violence in my words, choosing anger and impatience over kindness and self control.

there's a better Love to model for my kids.  a way of peace that isn't enforced but lived-in-flesh.

****

my grief was not a cry for war that day in september nearly ten years ago, and an enemy killed sunday brings no cheer.

my sister reminded me of dr. king's words:

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral,
begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy.
Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it.
Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie,
nor establish the truth.
Through violence you murder the hater, but you do not murder hate.
In fact, violence merely increases hate....
Returning violence for violence multiples violence,
adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR., Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?

{sweet babes}

our Good Friday world is a broken, hurting place, but we are an Easter people.

i want my children to know that night only seems to be devoid of stars for a time, beneath the clouds of our limited perspective.  the grave could not keep Christ, and God's Kingdom will come, on earth as it is in heaven.  it's here even now, if we have eyes to see (and hands willing to work to bring it forth.)

there is a crack, a crack in everything : that's how the light gets in. 

{common prayer: a liturgy for ordinary radicals}

here's a hymn to welcome in the day

it's been a whirlwind of a week, but one packed with grace.  these blessings are from the last four days only.

an ongoing record of God's goodness, #228-257

a maundy thursday meditation on the disciples' (and my) fleeing Christ's nonviolent path

a moms' retreat coming together

the spare tire in the back of the car and a husband able to change a flat

entertaining babes on a bridge to nowhere, thankful for warmth as we waited

a trip into pittsburgh

a real live date

dinner without cutting meat into tiny portions

cocktail sipped and pita dipped

adult conversation without cajoling anyone to "one more bite!"

birthday tickets to an amazing decemberists' show

a night without tears (except the ones i may have cried at the crane wife 3)

the lovely benedum theater

them closing with june hymn on a perfect spring day

a generous friend who took good care of the babes

a great team to stage the journey to the cross good friday at church

the earned tiredness of hard work

creating a space for worship and reflection

meditating on Christ's sacrifice

jim's parents in for easter weekend

james saying "grammy! ball!"

being the "expert witness" at saturday's great cloth diaper change.  (when i track down photos of this, i will post more)

gelato with james in a favorite outdoor care

tulips in bloom in time to celebrate resurrection

a playful red fox scampering through the fields 

dinner with family and good friends

egg hunting merriment and dylan's pure joy

easter ham

chocolate eggs

a rousing game of scattergories

an empty tomb and the return of the alleluia

the fast you have chosen

i suck at lenten fasts.

once in college i gave up free-cell [my time-waste of choice in that pre-facebook/twitter era] and didn't make it past march.

another year i fasted from meat...until taste of asia culture night.  white rice and lychee weren't gonna cut it then or later when our whole apartment wafted with aromas of leftover lumpia, pancit, and half a dozen handmade-with-mama-love curries. 

i am the very worst ascetic.

this year i gave up white sugar.  not all sugar, treats, or dessert, mind you.  just white sugar:  the stuff i shouldn't be eating anyway in my desire to feed my family whole, real food.

i did pretty good, for a while.  i said no to pie and after-church goodies.  i made pudding with honey and molasses.  i drank my coffee with turbinado sugar or none at all.  my friend steph made me an insanely delicious olive oil pound cake with a honey blood orange compote for my birthday which we devoured in one weekend.  we also enjoyed vodka cocktails with her spicy homemade ginger brown-sugar-syrup, so life around here has hardly been devoid of merriment.

and yet, i totally fell off the wagon. i had cake at a birthday party, and since i'd already had cake, why not stop at rita's for custard?

jim brought home a tray of coffee cake from camp's kitchen, and after having a piece (or four), what's a bowl of  ice cream for dessert?

slipping is incremental.  exactly like sin.

but why do i feel like since it's all shot to hell, i might as well give up and sin bigger? what is that?

i also vowed to not turn on the computer until i'd spent some time with God.  again, this worked pretty well for a while.  until it didn't.

i'm beginning to think the vows themselves are missing the point.

if i "fail" by checking my email before heading to my meeting (or cracking open my bible) and never consider picking it up again because the day was already "ruined," my fast isn't driving me to the throne of grace.

You cannot fast as you do today and expect your voice to be heard on high.

something is amiss.   

there is nothing spiritual about a discipline that is all about me and my goals and none about grace and my King.

praise God that his mercies are new every morning--including this one.

the Church of strangers and aliens. {like me}

there's a couple at my church in their late seventies, and they're the sort of people who don't have a filter--they just say whatever pops into their heads.

she told me once, when james was an infant, "it's a good thing you had that baby. you were getting really FAT!"

i never feel offended. i just shake my head and smile and wonder, exactly how old do you have to be to get away with that sort of thing?

we attended a particularly colorful dinner party with them just before the 2008 elections, and i will never forget the wide-eyed looks and chair-squirming that accompanied the salad course and their spirited political pronouncements (which we found to be both deeply amusing and spot-on).

last night at our lenten church supper, someone addressed the group from an elder-care organization the church supports. the wife, whose vision is weakening, shared how much the organization had meant to her in recent months, since they gave up their home and moved into senior apartments:

"i can vouch for them. my volunteer comes with me to my appointments, and last time i told her to take me to the mall, too.  do you know, she had never in her life ever been to a MACY'S? or TALBOTS? so we went. we help each other."

she's so right. we do help each other, and often not from our sameness or in the ways we might expect, but how many of us ever get the chance?

we don't have many reasons to associate in meaningful ways with anyone we don't expressly choose to, except perhaps at work. we don't know our neighbors. we aren't made to do group work like in school growing up. we join affinity organizations (sports teams, homeschool co-ops, civic groups) but may never interact with those whose age, politics, class, or race are different than ours.   

the more we huddle up, the easier it is to pigeonhole, misunderstand, or even demonize those who don't look like me or share my views or experience.

the Church is one of the few places left where different sorts of people come together and have to figure out how to get along, but if you look around, we're not so varied an organization either. it is said that sunday mornings are the most racially segregated hour in america, and we splinter by age and family category too, into ministries and small groups geared specifically for people just like us.

talking about family stuff with young moms is fine, but potty training doesn't exactly get my heart pumping. what does is justice and community, ecology, theology, food, faith, art, and politics, and i know my gender, generation, and tax bracket hardly have a monopoly on any of those passions.

maybe i need to take an old lady to talbots sometime. not to buy a silk scarf, but to discover the common threads that weave our stories together.

the Body of Christ functions best when it functions together. all of us.

warts and all.

{image source}

the time of tension between dying and birth

{image source}

excerpted from Ash Wednesday, T. S. Eliot

I
Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is
nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessèd face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgment not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

[...]

V
If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny
the voice

[...]

VI
Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn

Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth

This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply.

Blessèd sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit
of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.

hymns of praise then let us sing

we celebrated a lovely easter together.  the kids have been sick with a cold (dylan), croup and a fever (james), so it was nice to just relax a bit at home today, after a good worship service.

(the sweater dylan is wearing was made for me by my grandmother when i was a baby.  crazy, huh?  dylan wore that same size 18 month dress last spring.  by the time james is walking i think they'll be the same size!)

the weather was gorgeous and warm, perfect for hiding and finding easter eggs.  dylan delighted in filling her baskets with pastel eggs.  jim prepared a delicious venison roast, and the three of us shared the kind of elegant meal that is rarely seen these days:)  we missed extended family but enjoyed the quiet time together, especially after a busy week.

we're only just beginning to think about creating holiday traditions.  i like the idea of using resurrection eggs as a family devotional, and i'm intrigued by these advent spirals that can be used to remember lent as well.  what were/are some of the ways your family celebrates easter?

praising God for the empty tomb.  the Lord is risen indeed.  hallelujah!

easter is coming!

dylan has been really excited about easter this year.  she was too little to remember it last year, and she doesn't know anything about easter baskets or egg hunts, so i wasn't quite sure what is was she was so looking forward to.

we did have her try on easter dresses from the closet, but she's not a kid who gets especially amped about twirly dresses, so i didn't think that was it.

we've been talking to her about jesus and how he came back to life on easter, and although we're pretty excited about that, it's not exactly a concept that elicits squeals from your typical two-year-old.

tonight we finally realized why she is so excited:  dylan thinks easter is a person.

"easter is coming!  he comes here!  i share my toys!"

i hope our little social butterfly doesn't find the resurrection of our Lord to be anticlimactic...

photo: eraphernalia vintage

Thy grace can do it

read this wonderful meditation from charles spurgeon over at my friend lauren's.  it's a goodie.

church today was so good:  focused on the passion, cross, and sacrifice of Christ.  the scriptures and songs were somber and reflective, not like those "triumphal entry" palm sunday services that ring so hollow in my spirit.

i always think of that beautiful song, "star of the morning":

People shouted, "Here comes the King!"
As You marched down the road to Jerusalem
There were tears in Your eyes,
The same ones who cheered, yelled, "Crucify!"

the scene is ironic.  jesus is a king, for sure, but not the one the crowd is looking for.  he rides a donkey, not a chariot or stallion.  of course, their cheers ring false, when we know what comes next.

we cannot celebrate the joy and victory of easter before acknowledging the passion of Christ.

i cannot celebrate easter before humbling myself and repenting.  it was my sin that held jesus to the cross that day at golgotha.

Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore;
Jesus ready stands to save you,
Full of pity, love and power.

Come, ye thirsty, come, and welcome,
God’s free bounty glorify;
True belief and true repentance,
Every grace that brings you nigh.

Come, ye weary, heavy laden,
Lost and ruined by the fall;
If you tarry till you’re better,
You will never come at all.

I will arise and go to Jesus,
He will embrace me in His arms;
In the arms of my dear Savior,
O there are ten thousand charms.

Jesus! with us abide

we sung this hymn today at worship, and the words so struck me that i wanted to share them here:

Lord, who throughout these forty days
for us didst fast and pray,
teach us with thee to mourn our sins,
and close by thee to stay.

As thou with Satan didst contend
and didst the victory win,
O give us strength in thee to fight,
in thee to conquer sin.

As thou didst hunger bear and thirst,
so teach us, gracious Lord,
to die to self, and chiefly live
by thy most holy word.

And through these days of penitence,
and through thy Passiontide,
yea, evermore, in life and death,
Jesus! with us abide.

Abide with us, that so, this life
of suffering over-past,
an Easter of unending joy
we may attain at last!

Words: Claudia F. Hernaman, 1873
Music: St. Flavian

Jesus, mercy!

"Let all your thoughts be with the Most High and direct your humble prayers unceasingly to Christ." ~Thomas a Kempis

in anne lamott's fantastic book Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, she recounts that sometimes she has only two prayers in her arsenal:  help me help me help me and thank you thank you thank you. this summer i have really come to identify with the simplicities of those cries to God, and i've added a third prayer: Jesus, mercy. sometimes those two words are all i can manage to utter.

i've learned that this kind of repetitive, meditative prayer has a rich history in the church. The Sacred Way: Spiritual Practices for Everyday Life, by tony jones, which i used as a foundation for investigating spiritual disciplines with the staff this summer, tells about the Jesus prayer, "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me." its recitation has been a practice of eastern christianity since at least the sixth century and central to the understanding of how to be obedient to Paul's exhortation to "pray continually" (1 thessalonians 5:17).

The prayer is a variation of the two prayers uttered in these gospel passages:

Then they came to Jericho. As Jesus and his disciples, together with a large crowd, were leaving the city, a blind man, Bartimaeus (that is, the Son of Timaeus), was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout,

"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!"

Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more,

"Son of David, have mercy on me!"

Jesus stopped and said, "Call him."

So they called to the blind man, "Cheer up! On your feet! He's calling you." Throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus.

"What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked him.

The blind man said, "Rabbi, I want to see."

"Go," said Jesus, "your faith has healed you." Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road.  (Mark 10:46-52)

batimaeus is not deterred by those who wish to silence his plea, and his persistence is met with "cheer up! on your feet! he's calling you!" Jesus is calling! Jesus listens to his desire and meets his immediate need. bartimaeus receives the healing and responds by following Jesus.

To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else, Jesus told this parable: "Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.'

"But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, 'God, have mercy on me, a sinner.'

"I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted."  (Luke 18:9-14)

in jones' book, he quotes frederica mathewes-green:

The problem is not in God's willingness to have mercy, but in our forgetting that we need it. We keep lapsing into idea of self-sufficiency, or get impressed with our niceness, and so we lose our humility. Asking for mercy reminds us that we are still poor and needy, and fall short of the glory of God. Those who do not ask do not receive, because they don't know their own need.

if i've learned anything parenting a baby, it is that self-sufficiency is certainly an illusion. i cannot make dylan be well and i cannot make her sleep, no matter how much she needs it. motherhood has certainly been a humbling experience. the upside to the desperation has been that in recognizing my inadequacy and desperate need, i have seen God pour out great grace and mercy to help me in my helplessness and to forgive me in my ugliness.

God is good, and God is certainly merciful. dylan would not nap in her crib, but she is napping soundly in the sling, oblivious to my typing, movement, and sydney's barking.

thank you thank you thank you.