Christmas, Day 5

It's the day of the FIIIIIVE GOOOLDEN RIIIIINGS, as the song goes. Here is my Christmas poem for 2011. Full of the song that sings in counterpoint and harmony with all the good and bad the world has in it.

Before the angels sang of glory or the shepherds heard the story

There was cold that night, the bone-chilling kind

That bites at nostrils and dries up eyes,

Yet the warm in the dark was as real;

An embodied enchantment,

Though there were no magic tricks,

Nor a chant to fall in midnight’s hollow ear.

Still the silent swirl of the stars harmonized

With the lullaby of soft silver shadows

From a half-waned moon.

There was counterpoint of chill and warm

And an infant still wet from the womb

Breathing fresh his sleep’s silent song.

Singing blood and cries and death

So soon come of blood and cries and birth;

A song just as strange as the warm in the chill.

Singing womb of the earth

Singing tomb left empty to sing its own song.

Singing divine poverty and holy love.

Singing peace.

Peace.

Peace.

I have seen the earth move . . .

I have seen the earth move.
I have watched it roll like the sea.
I know the earth can dance and jiggle
And also twist and rise up to meet the morning
Like a child jumping from sleep on her bed.

These are miracles.
Changes that stir both fear and awe.
And joy.
The rock and dirt we tread is alive
If we will look
And learn to dance with it
No longer just walking upon it
Like we have such important things to fix
And do
And prove.

Last week, the earth moved for me.
I lay in a crater blasted into me by divorce.
I could not see above the rim.
I could not scramble out but kept
Slipping back in and down.

But the earth shook among friends last week.
And the crater rose.
It rolled and danced and twisted
Even in the darkness of its center.

And there, where I could not see over the rim
I find myself among the clouds
Risen.
Not safe or certain,
But on holy ground.

This is Sinai, now,
And the bush burns.
This is Tabor.
And the ground is not all that has transfigured.
This is Golgatha,
And the love that dies will rise.
This is Isaiah’s holy mount where the feast of fat things
Ends all
And begins.

I have seen the earth move.

Fall Rain

The early autumn rains weep,
Drop with abandon from an unimagined height.
I wonder what they plunge to seek,
And if I can find there a way or a why.

What is it like to condense in the altitude's fog
And become weighty with true self
So that you slip from floating in the dark bog
And soar in the wind at gravity's honest bidding
Toward some final loss of self
That will be a sea -- or a puddle -- of new beginning.

Do not be fooled

The sea gives the impression of staying put.
Even as it broils in a storm, it appears to be that great thing
Deep and strong that will be there after the winds die.

But the sea is never the same.
The water that rolls in the wave today
Will current away tomorrow
Or evaporate into a cloud.
The rain will become the sea.
Leviathan will leap and splash it away.
And the littlest fish will swallow it whole.
The foam will seep into the sand
Only to be pulled out by the tide.

Today the water will look clear and blue in the sun.
Tomorrow it will chill into a grey-green soup.
And the weight of the moon will pull and relax between
And again.
Who can say it will not turn purple the day after that
Or phosphorescent?

The sea does not remain.
The water that splashes at your ankles
Has seen other shores.

Do not be fooled.
For nothing will remain.
The ways of the sea are
Beautiful and awful,
Changing and true.

Well, my vacation is over now. But while I was off, I had the chance to visit with some of my life's many friends. It was an amazing chance to reconnect with some people I really love. Change and age and trouble were in the air, but so were blessing and family and God. I wrote this poem as a reflection and prayer.


You Can’t Go Back Home

They say you can’t.
And it makes sense, of course.
Nothing is as it was.
There is no such thing as standing still.
Although we can pretend there is
Or wish there was
And convince ourselves that what is
Is not.
But you are not the only one to move.
The whirlwind of age and transformation
Blows through wherever we are
And aren‘t.

The friends have wrinkled a bit.
The grey grows in the beards
And more of the women seem to color their hair.
But the bigger changes are the new fears
And the courage and faith that meet them.
The pain in the back or wrist.
The loss of a sister or a wife.
The job and the retirement fund swallowed
By the monster misnamed recession.
The child that looses their way
Or the diagnosis of uncertainty.
And the strange mid-life realization
That it really will end.

You cannot go back.
That is certain.

But you can go forward.
Go ahead and home.
For the hearts and souls --
Battered by the dreams broken
Or hopes realized and then recognized
As maybe not all
We had hoped for --
These hearts and souls
Deepen
In the whirlwind and the years.
Time grows us -- if we let it.
And friendships
Soften
Into a love
That never ends.

After a visit with dear friends in the Blue Ridge of Virginia . . .

Blue Ridge

Miles distant and years also
The blue mist sweeps away
Skyward the mountains’ edge.

They reach valley to cloud
Like tense muscle and tendon
Climbing to the west
And calling.

The green trees root in the rock
Grow together
Transfigure into gray and blue walls
That speak of ages long ago
When hot green rock reached to the heavens
Pushed up from below
With an earthly yearning to grow.

These ridges are older than dirt.
For the dirt that now gathers in their ragged valleys
Comes from the rising rock
Conversing with the sky
Loving and loved by ice and rain, root and sun --
This aged stone gives its wisdom
To the farms below.

At the foot of their rise
I stand changed
A fleck in the eye of God.
Rooted and
Crumbling
And growing
With a tense muscle
Ready to pounce
At the earthly moment
That lies before.

Here it is Easter Friday, and I am just now getting to post my Easter Hallelujah. Well, thank goodness some of us celebrate Easter for 50 days!
And a glorious day it was today, with a beautiful wedding in Westminster Abbey complete with the meaningful Anglican liturgy. I was heartened to see the couple appear to be as enchanted, awed, and excited as anyone. And their kisses were so sweet . . . as was the lovely prayer they wrote for the occasion. Easter!

Easter Hallelujah (May be sung to Cohen's Halleluja)

The morning started dark, forlorn
The cross, the nails, the crown of thorn
Had taken Jesus off from us forever.
We wandered through long shadows' fear
Yet in the new day's twilight born
A whisper rose to speak of hallelujah.
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, halleluuuujah.

The huge black stone was rolled away
The cave smelled fresh like new mown hay
A silent light was growing through the rock bed.
His body gone, the soldiers fled,
An angel flash called out and said
Who'd you seek among the dead: hallelujah.
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, halleluuuujah.

Our hearts were broken yet again.
His body taken by evil men?
Our eyes filled up with rainy tears that hid him.
Yet he stood there strong life again,
Took my breath and called my name.
A new song rose inside my heart: hallelujah.
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, halleluuuujah.

His eyes so clear and full of love
This God right here not off above
This God incarnate killing death and hatred.
He looked at me, I felt on fire,
Emboldened with a wild new hope
To sing unbounded songs of hallelujah.
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, halleluuuujah.

Resurrection hope sings true
I share it now in joy with you
So let's take hands and shout out hallelujah!
The world is dark with hate and fear
But God is here, our God is here,
And fills our rising hearts with hallelujahs.
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, halleluuuujah.

Well, it must be Lent. I spent yesterday in a Lenten retreat too! This time the retreat was led by an amazing lay person in the congregation where I serve. Here is the poem from the day. Thank you Dean!


Prayer that Dwells

Most prayer is calling for help.
Then, when we get better at it,
We say "thank you."
There is plenty of "sorry" in prayer too
(although this can be overdone).
But the best prayer I know is
Quiet stillness.
It is waiting without quite knowing or needing to know
What for or why.
I find such prayer walking alone
If there is anything much like alone --
And the silence whispers "no," there is not;
No alone, as in loneliness,
Only alone as in space for self.
In that space, I walk until I find a silent stride
That requires no set destination or success,
No solid meaning or commentary,
No dramatic earthquake or storm from God.
In that hallowed, hollowed cave of alone and not really alone
Voice whispers a whirlwind
And a word too still to hear,
Too alive to ignore,
Too deep to touch
Too immediate to leave me the way I am.
The Word vaults the silence and dances the stillness
Becoming flesh
That dwells.

This Saturday, I was blessed to be part of a beautiful Lenten retreat lead by the Rev. Dale Custer that focused on the Annunciation in the midst of Lent. We all need to find our ways to carry God into the world. This poem is my present experience of trying to do that. I hope this Lent is moving you toward the empty tomb that wombs resurrection.



My Annunciation

My heart is stirring
And fearful to beat
It skips
Limps
Hardens.
Nearly lost,
I press through this broken travel that goes no where
Around
Except towards a halting death,
And -- dare I dream? -- I want that it goes deeper, lovelier, truer, and for others.
I wander a sand-filled wadi
Where the dry desert gravels rutted.
I cannot help but search for something here that will fear
And fill
The shallow
Emptiness.
But I will not pretend a false flash of water
Or a momentary seed breaking green
Only to whither and disappear as it rose.
This may be all there is, this fierce little valley that waits for the rain.
Perhaps that is all I need;
All that there is.
Like an empty tomb or a barren pregnancy
That echoes no longer with a hollow yearning
For an ordinary body
But beats surprised with the percussion that drums
And wombs hope in the silence.

This is a poem I wrote after a wonderful vestry retreat with the leadership at St. Luke's in Blackstone. It was a blessing to be with them and their priest, Sandi!
Above is the Chinese character for love (Ai) which might thought of as a portrayal handing your heart to another. I like that it is a rather messy character that takes some time to get all the little "spatters" in place too.

The courage
To love
Humbles
Inspires
Terrifies
Souls us.
It is a rare thing
Given our ease
With speaking of love
When it comes to
Loving this or that thing
Or the people who easily love back
Or first.
This is hardly love at all.
When we love --
Truly love with
Tears and passion
Giving and loosing
Agonized ripping of the muscle --
Love,
Can we help but see
And know
Ourselves
More honestly
And stand stripped and in wonder
Before the stretched holiness
As it pierces our lives
With depth
And something too mysterious
To be mentioned with much clarity
Yet we know more certainly
When we find it
Like home
Or God
Or breathing
In and out.

I seem to be finding many who are suffering from abuse of one kind or another these days. I wrote this after speaking with one friend today.

The soul bruises also
Deep within
Where sunset purples and yellows are never seen
But arise
In broken speech,
Tears,
Fearful hiding,
Shallow hardness,
And a darkened silence.
Hope does not spring up well on crutches.
Trust is a poor and fragile thing
When glued back together with blind eyes
Like a shattered lamp of clay.
Love cannot dance to the limping rhythms
Of a cowering heart.
Take care with your words, take care.
Make care by your actions, make care.
You are not free to bruise
Someone's soul.

Here is a prayer for the warmth of fire light I have written. It is really meant for a winter's bonfire or the lighting of a candles among friends. It seems especially appropriate on this, the Feast of St. Bridgit, who was known to always keep her fire going in hospitality. It also seems appropriate in this time of less peaceful fires broiling in Egypt and many other places as well.


Bless, O God, the fire bright
As you blessed creation's light.
Bless, O God, this circle of love
As you bless the circle of life.
Bless, O God, this very place
As you have blessed the world.
Bless, O God, each living soul among us
As you have blessed each soul that lives.

We come this night to the Father's great light.
We come this night to the Son's warm glow.
We come this night to the Spirit's flamed dance.
We come this night to God.

May we take this flame of yours from this place
May it glow and grow in our hearts
That we may serve you and illumine the world.

May I be a doorway to heaven
For my loved ones and all.
A doorway to heaven be.
May your flame glow and grow in my heart
To build me a doorway for heaven.

May the darkness of this night, O Christ,
Be the peace in my soul this night.
May the light of this fire this night, O Christ,
Be the hope of my heart this night.
May the dance of the fire this night, O Christ,
Be the joy of my life this night.
May the warmth of the heat this night, O Christ,
Be my comfort in your this night.
May the glow on the faces this night, O Christ,
Be the sign of your presence this night.
May the peace of this night, O Christ,
Be my peace and the peace of the world this night.
May the peace of this night, O Christ,
Be the peace of all peace in the world this night.