Friday, December 14, 2012

The Prayers that Reverberate in My Soul

From the night service of Compline, The Book of Common Prayer 1979

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep.

Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake.  Amen

Psalm 139:7-12

Where can I go from your spirit?
    Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
    if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
If I take the wings of the morning
    and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
    and your right hand shall hold me fast.
If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me,
    and the light around me become night’,
even the darkness is not dark to you;
    the night is as bright as the day,
    for darkness is as light to you.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

'Tis the Season

Do we really need to make "it" magical for our children?
When "Its" very reality is grounded in that sacred holy place (that some call magic) already?

Tuesday, December 4, 2012


Expectant Hope
Already but not yet
Longing for

Eager expectation
A new life
New year
Joyful concern
Inward dwelling


Sometimes there is no choice but to wait.  Nothing can be rushed and any earlier would be too soon.  This season of Advent, like every other but unlike any other, swirls on in sursum blue.

A color best compared to the deep blue of the sky with the sharp glimmers of the stars--better if the night is cold and crisp and the air unmarred by lights of our making.

So, here we are...tapping our fingers and dancing about on inpatient feet.

Are we there yet?  Not yet.  Still waiting.  But in the waiting we look upwards and outwards to the stars.  They glimmer with promise and perfection.

And they smolder from within, like the breath and the heart.

Such beauty, it cannot be contained or held.  And, despite its perfection it is incomplete.

And arms waiting, empty, and the donkey plods on towards Bethlehem and we watch its torturously slow journey.  But to birth on the wayside would be too hard and the manger awaits ahead.

New life.  Such life.  Blessed life.