Teach us the patience to heal

Jesus, 

We love disposable things.

Plastic containers and bags 

filling oceans and landfills.

We tend to replace broken things,

not repair them.

Take a sip and discard;

microwave, eat, and discard.

Something broken?

No problem!

Go to Amazon, click, click, click,

overnight delivery and boom!

Broken thing replaced, not repaired.

The little luxuries that wealth affords

for expediency’s sake and convenience’s glory.

No wonder we don’t know how to heal!

We have no resilience in the struggle,

no patience for the waiting, 

no empathy for those 

who are too far away from wealth 

to hear her shouting

“No problem!” 

and close enough to poverty

to hear her whisper

“You are stuck!” 

But you,

being able to change the world 

faster than a microwave turns kernels into popcorn,

chose the slow path of birth and growth.

Nine months in mom’s womb,

childhood playing and learning Torah,

youth watching dad and learning a craft,

thirty whole years before you announced

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,

Because he has anointed me

to preach good news to the poor.

He has sent me 

to proclaim release to the captives

and recovery of sight to the blind, 

to set free the oppressed

to proclaim the year 

of the Lord’s favor.

You weren’t interested in convenience and expediency;

you wanted re-creation and redemption

because the world is too precious to be disposable

and creation too beautiful to be abandoned.

You died on the cross 

a slow, painful death 

so every part of us

would be healed and redeemed. 

We were fragmented, 

shattered in millions of pieces

by sin’s hammering force.

But your blood glued us together

restoring our souls to reflect you

and re-creating your image. 

Piece by piece you have taught us

that you don’t give up on things;

you don’t give up on us.

We are not disposable! 

You have bestowed on us 

the dignity of redemption,

the privilege of growing slow,

the sacredness of healing well

so that we may show off our scars.

Healer, 

Teach us to love lacquer and glue.

Grant us the patience to be

agents of repair and redemption

and to choose the slow process of growth.

Teach us to mend what is broken.

Fill our cracks with your binding love

and embellish them with your Light. 

Kintsugi our souls that we may Kintsugi the world.

Οur souls need deliverance from apathy.

Our streets need healing from gun violence.

Our sidewalks need healing from neglect.

Our city needs deliverance from systems

that draw red lines around people

and push us further apart.

Tear down the walls of hostility!
Disarm the weapons of corruption!
Break the strongholds that hold us

captive to evil systems of injustice!

Kintsugi our souls that we may kintsugi the world.

Amen

Lament of the Wounded

How long, oh Lord, will I walk around wounded?

How long will I don gauze as my garment?

How long will my plea go unanswered?

How long will your face turn away?

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

My soul is crying in anguish,

battered by emotional pain 

it knows not how to name.

My bones ache from exhaustion, 

my muscles are knotted in tension

shaking and sobbing in rhythm,

learning the cadence of grief.

Selah

I sob for me and all the ones donning gauze,

carrying pain’s lonely load

alongside you on Calvary’s road.

I sob with all the wounded

whose gauze is stained red

because their heart has been crushed.

They lay awake anxious,

staring down the night

wishing for sunshine and daytime.

Their eyelids are heavy

but their minds don’t stop racing

the lanes slippery with tears

on worry’s perilous highway. 

Oh, and here comes the storm!

Steady downpour of tears

flowing forth from my soul.

They gush out from my guts 

like water through an opened dam. 

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Selah

Yet I am not crying alone.

You cried with me on Calvary’s mount. 

You showered me with you blood

while crying out to your Father,

“Why did you leave me alone?”

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

You sobbed with me in anguish

as you poured out your blood.

You fixed your gaze on mine;

I saw your tears and you saw mine,

the sacred knowing of all the wounded.

And I hear you faintly whispering 

“I press my wounds against yours.”

Selah

Oh, Jesus, wounded Savior,

teach me to suffer well.

Teach me that my tears

water the seeds of your kingdom

amidst thistles and thorns.

One day, the flowers will bloom! 

Teach me to suffer with hope.

For your wounds were healed into scars

and you no longer wear gauze.

Soon I shall hear you shouting

“I press my scars against yours!” 

Amen

Blown by the Wind

The wind blows where it pleases, and you hear its sound, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.

John 3:8

Holy Spirit, 

As we enter this place,

free us to surrender

to the power of your Wind.

We give up control

of worries that keep us sleepless

and burdens that make us hunch.

We give up our ideas

of what we think church should look like

and how you should do your work.

We give up the fight;

we refuse to fight Sovereignty 

and resist being transformed.

You are God; we are not. 

We open our hearts 

to your transcendent power

and your immanent presence. 

We invite you to enter

the recesses of our souls no one has ever seen

because we thought them to ugly for anyone to see. 

Blow Holy Spirit! Blow! 

We expect you this day

to convict us from sin,

to deliver the oppress,

to encourage the discouraged,

to be near to the brokenhearted.

There is nothing too big for your transcendence 

and nothing too small for your immanence.

Blow Holy Spirit! Blow!

Disrupt us with beauty

and awaken our souls.

We’ve been asleep for too long

inside theological boxes that confine you

as if we could imprison the Wind. 

Blow Holy Spirit! Blow! 

Shake us out of complacency,

disturb our souls with what disturbs You. 

Disrupts us with beauty 

into your mission and story.

We surrender to the Wind.

Amen

The Shepherd’s Touch

Good Shepherd, 

I’ve been too mad at you to let you touch me,

throwing punches in the air,

fighting the wind to keep you away.

But the truth is

I. AM. LOST.

I’ve been wandering in your silence’s wilderness,

longing for the Shepherd to find me.

My body and soul are fainting,

yearning for you,

for the sound of your voice,

for the warmth of your arms,

for the touch of your hand.

Come, Good Shepherd,

hear my wandering cries,

rescue me from this futile battle,

where I fight for your embrace

but push you away

throwing punches to the wind.  

I am lost and scared.

I don’t know how to live without you,

I don’t want to learn!

Why is fighting easier than surrendering?

If I fight, you remain at arm's length,

but if I surrender, you come closer than breath. 

Surrender is intimacy’s road.

You come close enough to shear my wool, 

close enough to be smeared with my mud,

close enough to see my naked soul,

close enough to know my truest parts.

The discomfort of intimacy 

makes me throw punches to the air.

But I’m tired of fighting,

and I’m done pretending

that I’m ok on my own

and I don’t need You to care.

Come close my Shepherd, my Beloved!

I surrender to intimacy’s rest

in the safety of your arms 

and the warmth of your touch.

Surrender is the road to joy.

Amen

God’s Questions

I had heard reports about you, but now my eyes have seen you. Therefore, I reject my words and am sorry for them; I am dust and ashes. 

Job 42:5-6

Pure Wisdom,

We are suffering,

crushed by the weight of life,

burdened by a world torn apart,

tired of the thorns and the thistles. 

Our bodies are covered 

in boils of infirmity and injustice.

Our skin itches with loneliness.

We scratch the itch with fickle flings

that spread the pus and leave a wound.

Our souls are tired 

of breathing heavy and gasping for air, 

longing for solace but receiving unfair,

craving touch but enduring abandon.

So we search for answers

and ask millions of questions,

but receive pad answers 

from so called friends

that we wish would be silent. 

So we flood you with questions

Why me, why that, why now?

But where do we hide when you’re asking the questions?

What do we say to the counsel of Wisdom?

…

You ask me to answer

unanswerable questions

about your infinite mystery 

and unspeakable grandeur.

Where were you when I lid up the world?

Where were you when I spoke plants alive?

Do you know how to water the earth?

Do you know how to confine the seas?

We stand silent before you

in the smallness of unknowing,

unwise as ostriches,

running as fast as we can,

leaving our eggs in the sand.

We have nothing to say;

we close our mouths with our hands.

For we had hear reports about you,

but now our eyes have seen you.

We reject our words 

and are sorry for them;

we are dust and ashes. 

Amen

No one has greater love than this: to lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants anymore, because a servant does not know what his master is doing. I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything I have heard from my Father. 

John 15:13-15

Teach us to trust in order to love 

God, 

We are lonely,

isolated behind glowing boxes

that promised to build connections,

but conditioned us to build walls,

brick by brick,

click by click.

We are hiding

behind online personas

created from our soul’s wish list,

skinnier body,

flawless complexion,

great vacations,

perfect marriage,

saintly kids,

dream job,

smiling faces,

happy emojis.

We are scared

of revealing our real list

instead of our wish list;

we are afraid that what’s wished

gets more likes than what’s real.

We aren’t skinny; we have love handles.

Our skin is not flawless; we have pimples and wrinkles.

We didn’t go to Bora Bora; we went to Branson. 

Our marriages aren’t perfect; we are imperfect.

Our kids aren’t saintly; they’re prickly.

Our jobs aren’t dreamy; thorns and thistles are stinging.

Our faces are smiling but our hearts are frowning.

Happy emojis hide frustration and sadness. 

WE ARE EXHAUSTED.

Jesus, Our Friend, 

You who hung on the cross

naked, vulnerable, exposed.

You gave your whole self for us;

you never wanted anything other than us, 

imperfect as we are,

love handles and all,

to handle all of us with love.

Our souls are never hidden from you;

The pimples, the wrinkles, the sadness.

Teach us to trust in your love for us.

We need to recover

the trust that abuse eroded,

when we gave ourselves to others,

who treated our loneliness as opportunity,

our insecurities as a place for hiding,

our fear as a security blanket, 

and our exhaustion as if they won the fight. 

Teach us to trust in your love for us.

Let us trust you enough to be generous.

You fully gave yourself to us;

we want to give ourselves to you

in the freedom of perfect love

and the safety of intimate friendship.

Let us trust you enough to be humble,

humble enough to be vulnerable,

vulnerable enough to be intimate.

Rid us of the pride that hides 

our true selves behind our wish lists

and open our hearts to the friendship 

that only humility brings.

And, after all that wrestling, 

learning to trust in your love,

grant us the courage to trust

the love of our siblings in Christ.

We need courage

to give ourselves to each other

with radical generosity

in the sacredness of humility.

Tear down the walls of suspicion!

Break every chain of our pride!

We want to love freely and truly;

we want to extend genuine hugs.

We want to lift up the wounded

and give up our lives for our love. 

We want to say to our siblings

You have to trust in my love.

Amen

The little children were brought to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray, but the disciples rebuked them. Jesus said, “Leave the little children alone, and don’t try to keep them from coming to me, because the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

Matthew 19:13-14

Bless the “little saints”

Jesus,

To you who love children more than we ever could, we commend the “little saints” we cherish and care for. They are growing up in a world that is anxious and angry, confused and callused, a world in desperation and distress. Would you lay your hands on them and bless them?

Bless them with wonder  

To see your hand in each detail

and marvel at the silliest things.

Let their first word be WOW,

amazed by the splendor 

of pretty flowers and play dough. 

Bless them with courage

to color outside the lines

and try new colors and shapes.

Don’t let fear keep them caged,

imprisoned in “what ifs” and regret.

Teach them to walk steady,

especially when they’re afraid.

Bless them with innovation

that dares to scribble on walls

and glue mesh in odd places.

May they sense your delight in their scribbles

and feel your joy in imaginative play.

May they sense your Spirit’s nudging

to paint with colors they rarely use,

try a dance move no one has seen,

solve equations with unconventional methods,

cure diseases with God-given lab techniques.

Bless them with a heart for prayer 

to listen to you in the stillness 

of a spirit quieted by Love. 

To pray with boldness 

that matches your grandeur

and faith that believes you are able. 

Let your arms be their home.

Let your presence be their safe harbor

in the midst of life storms that will surely come.

Bless them with unbridled trust

to say yes to your mission 

and obey you with haste.

Let them march to the rhythm

of the drum in your heart.

May they be compelled

by the Beauty beheld. 

Amen

Jesus, 

Will you bless us too? 

Bless us with humility 

to be trained by the children

in the ways of your kingdom.

Our faith needs renewal; 

make us like children!

May we marvel at the smallest detail,

may we have courage to fail and to fall,

may we look at the world with curiosity,

may we dare to scribble on walls

and color outside the lines.

Make us like the “little saints”

so we may grow into kingdom saints.

Amen

Uncontainable and Uncontrollable

Now to him who is able to do above and beyond all that we ask or think according to the power that works in us - to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen. 

Ephesians 3:20-21

God,

You who no temple contains

and fills the whole earth.

You who reclines in heaven

and rests his feet on earth.

Expand our imaginations

to your unmeasurable dimensions,

that we may pray “able to do” prayers

that we may ask for what’s “above and beyond.” 

Our prayers are often weak 

because we make you too small.

We read that no temple contains you

but reduce you to what we can read

and models predict.

But you, uncontainable God, 

you defy every formula 

and break every box. 

Your kingdom can’t be contained

because your Spirit cannot be tamed. 

He is not our pet!

We can’t keep him on schedule.

We can’t train him to follow.

We can’t teach him our tricks.

How arrogant have we been!

To think we can keep you contained

in carefully crafted boxes

that present as presents 

but are wrapping prisons. 

The prisons of control 

that shout inside of us, 

“This is the only way to do this.” 

“That is not of God;

it is too weird, too wild.”

But you, uncontrollable God, 

you beckon us to pay attention

to the city growing sideways 

in the bottle without lid.

She is breaking out to fly

to lands near and far,

growing your kingdom in places

that books do not mention

and experts ignore. 

Help us, oh God!

Free our minds from the prisons 

that come wrapped in gift boxes.

We want to march with your Spirit,

in sync with your heart.

We want to pray

“Your kingdom come, your will be done”

without crossing our fingers behind our backs.

We want to burst the walls of our kingdom

so that yours can go forth!

Give us the courage to throw out the lid

and tip the bottle to spill 

by praying “above and beyond”

to the One who is “able to do.”

Amen

The Rhythms of Beauty

Let us, then, make every effort to enter that rest so that no one will fall into the same pattern of disobedience. 

Hebrews 4:11

Creator and Beauty, 

On day one 

you turned on the lights 

in a world that was dark, 

filled with empty space,

in timeless disarray, 

but pregnant with promise

for your Spirit was hovering.

On day two

you made a home for the sky, 

dwelling for the color blue

and blanket for the waters below.

On day three

you gathered the seas

and made land appear,

a canvas for shades of green

accented by fun-colored flowers

announcing the fruits for our food. 

On day four

you hung the sun from the sky

to greet each day with delight.

You sprinkled twinkling lights

to dance away through the night.

On day five

you sent the fish to swim 

and the birds to fly,

large creatures playing in the sea,

winged animals gliding across the sky.

On day six

you filled the earth 

with herds of all kinds. 

Crawling creatures and wildlife

adorning the shades of green. 

You fashioned humans on day six;

your very hands molding clay

to mirror your very self,

to steward the earth and subdue it. 

All that you made was good.

Beauty created 

for your pleasure and ours,

a playground to care for, 

a communion garden.

The beauty created was good.

On day seven,

you rested.

[Pause]

Then the lying serpent 

crawled between you and us. 

Holy communion 

between God and his image

disrupted by crawling sin.

The lights went off in our souls

when beauty created 

became beauty intended. 

Now all of our ailments 

bear footnotes,

“That’s not what our Creator intended.” 

We feel it every day,

creeping up our souls,

the rebellion of our humanity

against pure Wisdom and Beauty.

Now, like animals

we’re eating each other.

Sin has made us cannibals;

our words are as sharp as molars. 

Like the world on day one,

our souls feel empty and void. 

Hearts in disarray, 

longing for peace and hope.

So you sent us your Son

and the serpent was crushed.

Your very self in the flesh

transformed beauty intended

into beauty re-created.

Now all of our ailments 

bear footnotes of hope,

“One day Jesus will come

and everything God intended

will be finally consummated.”

Beauty intended,

re-created through Jesus,

fully consummated

when he comes to wed us.

Perfect sabbath at last! 

Jesus, our Bridegroom,

Help us strive to enter your rest,

make us long to your beauty behold,

grant us peace in communion’s embrace,

help us clasp the grace in your rest.

Amen

Dry bones and rainbows

“The hand of the Lord was on me, and he brought me out by his Spirit and set me down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them. There were a great many of them on the surface of the valley, and they were very, very dry. Then he said to me, ‘Son of man, can these bones live?’ I replied, ‘Lord God only you know.’ He said to me, ‘Prophesy concerning these bones and say to them: Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord!”

Ezekiel 37:1-4

Resurrected Lord, 

Dry bones and rainbows

are a seeming paradox,

a contradiction of the imagination,

a square peg in a round hole. 

How could rainbows 

arise from dry bones?

Dull and ivory white,

too hard for penetrating light.

Dry bones fill valleys of hopelessness,

but rainbows announce newness and hope.

Jesus, 

Where are the prophets?

Where are Ezekiel’s heirs,

the ones whose souls are prisms of hope?

Shine on them so the colors come forth!

Holy Spirit, 

Blow from the four corners

and summon the prophets

to paint rainbows in war zones

and speak flesh over dry bones.

Amen.

Painters arise!

Let your soul’s prism bend Light

so the angle’s just right

to paint resurrection lilies 

amidst weeds of injustice.

Ballerinas on pointe!

Skip your Grand Jetés of hope, 

painting rainbows over ruins,

where children skip over grenades 

hoping for lilies and rainbows.

Dance your arabesque to resurrection! 

Musicians come forth! 

Gather your fiddles and flutes,

blow the Spirit's reconciling notes

in spaces where only sirens blow.

Poets, gather your pens!

Paint rainbows of hope with words of peace.

Speak forgiveness into dry bones,

and tendons into tedium.

Rhyme the world to resurrection! 

Teachers, have courage!

Tell young hearts that math makes rainbows.

Divine Light refracted on living water 

that turns souls into prisms

painting the world with hope. 

Doctors, gather your stethoscopes!

Listen carefully to hurting hearts

to bring healing with skillful hands,

and minister presence to the soul’s chambers. 

Bedside manners also paint rainbows!

Resurrected Lord, 

Here are the heirs of Ezekiel.

We stand amidst this world’s dry bones,

hearing your Spirit’s cry inside us

“Prophesy! Prophesy you sons and daughters of Ezekiel!”

Here we are, 

Imperfect but ready

to paint rainbows over dry bones.

We say, “Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord!”

Here we are

painting resurrection lilies, 

dancing Pirouettes in the wilderness,

playing reconciling notes,

rhyming the world to resurrection,

teaching rainbow mathematics,

listening to hearts with stethoscopes.

In unison we say,

“Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord!”

We will paint rainbows over dry bones

until the only dry bones around

look like a serpent and smell like sulfur.

Amen

Let My People Go!

“I have observed the misery of my people in Egypt, and have heard them crying out because of their oppressors. I know about their sufferings and I have come down to rescue them from the power of the Egyptians and to bring them from that land to a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey…” (Exodus 3:7-8)

“The Lord, the God of the Hebrews, has sent me to tell you: Let my people go, so that they may worship me in the wilderness.” (Exodus 7:16)

God, Liberator of the oppressed, 

I hear your voice

roaring from the burning bush,

rushing into my soul with fury,

crying out for the voiceless,

“Let my people go!” 

You are crying for the unborn,

the creature you shaped, 

kicking in mom’s belly 

wanting to be born.

But her arrival is an inconvenience, 

so we use murder as a convenience.

I hear you crying with jealousy, 

“Let my people go!”

You are crying for the mom,

who wants her unborn to be born,

but enjoys no support  

of those who hasten to accuse her,

but move nothing to lift her sorrow

and deny her the dignity of telling her story.

I hear you crying for her, 

“That’s my daughter,

Let her go!”

You are crying for the sisters of Tamar,

who were treated like objects,

violated and discarded

by brothers who felt entitled to pleasure  

and abused their power to obtain it. 

I hear you sobbing with Tamar and her sisters

tears of sorrow, sobs of anguish, 

tears of shame, sobs of rage, 

tears of denial, sobs of despair, 

tears and sobs, 

tears and sobs, 

ashes and torn robe, 

bitter tears, bitter pain, 

heavy tears and rhythmic sobs, 

the sound of grief and the cadence of desolation. 

I hear you sobbing in anguish

“Let Tamar and her sisters go!”

You are crying with George Floyd,

your hands extended on the cross,

exhausted from searching for air,

looking at the guards who robbed your breath.

You cry with him in unison

“I can’t breathe.”

And your Spirit within me cries,

“Let my people go!”

You are sobbing with the parents,

who are losing children to gun violence 

in the red-lined streets of this land, 

split in half by the Troost,

by the wealthy knives of those who hid the truth.

You are crying in protest 

for your blood is red but draws no lines.

“Let my people go!”

You are crying with the immigrant,

who was lured by the “American dream”

and wakes up to a nightmare 

in the dreamland where only some dream.

We eat the produce they pick,

but can’t afford to eat.

We benefit from their labor,

but fail to protect their personhood

I hear your voice through “The Great Wall”

echoing through Rio Grande 

and piercing the Sonora Desert,

“Let my people go!”

You cry with the unhoused 

in the solidarity of having nowhere to lay your head.

You cry with them for mercy 

from passerbyers and runners,

lawyers and laborers. 

Some of them sound like Bartimeus

“Son of David, have mercy on me” 

And you cry aloud with them

“Let my people go!”

You are crying with the elders,

whose companion is loneliness, 

discarded by a society 

that searches for wisdom in empty wells,

ignoring fountains in nursing homes 

and rivers gushing out of lonely houses.

There is wisdom in the slow and steady pace

of feet that once ran

through mountains and valleys,

straight and curvy roads,

smooth and rocky terrain.

There is beauty to white hair,

depth to wrinkles

carved by sweat and tears,

tenderness in callused hands

that labored for our present comfort.

I see you meet their gaze through the window, 

crying out with indignation

“Let my people go!”  

Jesus Christ, Friend of souls in the margins

We lament our neglect.

We grieve our apathy,

for we live and worship comfortably 

in white castles with thick wide walls

that afford us the luxury of ignorance 

and the safety of distance.

Forgive us for not valuing 

life at all stages.

Forgive us for valuing 

the comfort of distance 

over the discomfort of proximity

to those who are not like us,

to those who don’t have as much.  

Forgive us, oh Lord, 

for drawing red lines over lives, 

knowing that your blood is red 

but draws no lines.

We repent for putting

whiteness over witness,

profit over personhood,

wealth over diversity’s wonder,

pride over poverty of spirit,

greed over gratitude. 

Make us disciples who are liberators.

Let our voices join with Moses

in the cry of justice 

that is as old as,

“Let my people go!” 

Amen

[...] So he got up and went to his father. But while the son was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion. He ran, threw his arms around his neck, and kissed him.

Luke 15:20

The Clarity of the Father’s Embrace

Father,

Sorry it took me so long…

So long to see your heart,

so long to see my pride,

so long to hear you calling, 

so long to hear my longing.

I longed to run to you,

but thought I was too little too late 

and too much too messed up.

I squandered what you freely gave me

searching for love in the arms of lovers, 

who wanted me as long I didn’t ask

for real caresses and long love,

for a sincere kiss and a timeless embrace,

for true companionship and not just a hookup.

I longed to run to you,

but was too ashamed to face you.

I couldn’t look into your piercing eyes.

They are too pure for my eyes.

For I’ve seen folly and violence, 

I’ve looked at others’ bodies with lust

and others’ things with envy.

Your eyes are too pure for mine; 

I couldn’t look up to meet your gaze.

I longed to run to you! 

I longed for your embrace!

But my hands were dirty with my sin against you

and my body muddy with the sin against me. 

I’ve touched forbidden money and forbidden bodies.

My body knows the violence of abuse 

and the inhumanity of unwanted touch.

How could I put these dirty hands around you?

I longed to run to you.

I longed to cling to your neck 

and weep on your chest,

but where would I find the courage?

One all too frequent a day

of beers and brutality,

lust and loneliness,

I felt my soul exhausted

and my body tired.

Exhausted of being numb 

and tired of the same hustling.

So I ran and I ran, 

looking for the One I longed for,

unsure, but hoping I’d be welcomed.

And there you were! 

In the middle of the road,

arms open wide

grin on your face,

eyes filled with tears.

I ran into your arms,

expecting to hear, 

“What have you done?

Where have you been?”

But all I heard was 

“Welcome,

welcome home my child. 

I’ve been waiting for you,

longing for your face.

I missed you!”

Here in the safety of your arms

there is light and clarity,

I can breath again,

I can let go, 

I can receive love without fees

and acceptance without violence.

Sorry it took me so long 

to return to your arms 

and tell you I should’ve never left.

Sorry it took me so long

to realize it was your arms I longed for.

I now rest in your embrace 

and weep in the arms I longed for,

resting in your peace 

and the clarity of your embrace,

still too much too messed up,

but assured of your love,

listening to your gentle whisper,

“You are mine.”

Amen

Inside the tomb

where your dead body laid

there was silence and stench, 

breathless body,

heavy air.

We can handle the stench,

even wrestle with the pain.

But who can take the silence?

The One who spoke plants alive

and the stars to shine

doesn’t utter a word!

Are you there?

…

The One who spoke from eternity

now sits silent in infinity

while we endure the silence

born in infinite Light.

Are you there?

…

…

Didn’t you say you’d be with us? 

Didn’t you say you don’t sleep? 

ARE. YOU. THERE?

Wake up!

…

…

…

We hurt!

We cry silent tears,

hidden in painful smiles

and lonely hand shakes.

We are in pain! 

We wrestle with empty wombs

and empty rooms.

We are longing for peace

but the world is at war

and our streets filled with violence.

We desire intimacy

but seek it in disconnected

online connections

that make the world smaller 

but our souls’ holes bigger. 

Are you there?

…

…

…

…

Just one word

Oh please, just one! 

Are you there?

…

…

…

…

…

“WAIT!”

Really? 

That ‘s all you have to say? 

WAIT?  

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

We wait for Easter Sunday

in Saturday’s uncomfortable silence,

learning the patience that only silence can teach.

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Jesus, 

You who endured in the tomb, 

Holy Saturday’s painful silence,

help us endure with patience

the painful silence of our many Saturdays.

Let the Father’s silence shape us

into patient people in a hurried world.

Let patience grown in silence 

shape You in us,

the hope of glory

that springs on Saturdays.

Amen

Will I Do the Same?

“He grew up before him like a young plant 

and like a root out of dry ground. 

He didn’t have an impressive form 

or majesty that we should look at him, 

no appearance that we should desire him. 

He was despised and rejected by men, 

a man of suffering who knew what sickness was. 

He was like someone people turn away from; 

he was despised and we didn’t value him.

Isaiah 53:2-3

You gave your life for me.

Will I give my life for you?

You took the sting of thorns

so I could smell the scent of flowers.

Will I die so you can live through me,

or will I cling to the pride of asserting

who I fashioned myself to be?

Will I surrender my heart

or will I cling to control?

Will I choose my own power

or will I bow to the Spirit’s?

Jesus,

Isaiah said that You, 

had no “impressive form,”

no desirable majesty. 

But I find you so beautiful,

so majestic, 

so stunning,

so compelling.

For no one else will do for me 

what you willingly did on Good Friday.

You took the thorns, 

So I’d get the flowers.  

Despised and rejected

You were sick with my sin.

My lying tongue flogged You,

my pride crucified You.

You died my death

so I could live your life. 

You took the thorns,

so I’d get the flowers.

Man of sorrows,

acquainted with grief,

hanging on the cross

You shed tears for me.

You cried for the wounds

that now bleed in my heart

You cried for the pain,

that now stifles my breath.

What undeserved beauty,

to see myself in your tears! 

Solidarity’s flowers 

born from thick, sharp thorns.

While I look at my image

in the tearful, sacred mirror

running down your cheeks

straight into my heart,

I hear your invitation 

to follow you to death.

But I cling to myself 

and refuse the cross. 

I love my things to much

I adore my world. 

Will I take the thorns 

so flowers can grow?

Jesus,

Grant me courage to surrender

to the path of the cross

so I can die to myself.

Reorder my loves.

Free me from unholy ties,

apparent freedoms 

that imprison my soul in idolatry’s den.

Grant me the grace I need

to wear the thorns you once wore

so colorful flowers can grow 

in the soil where you planted me.

Amen

Our Downtown Familia in the Four Chapters

God, 

Creator of the Universe and Giver of life, 

whose word creates and whose breath animates. 

You decorated heaven with billions of stars,

filled the ocean with playful creatures 

and the earth with millions of flowers

of shapes and colors galore 

for your pleasure and ours. 

How creative and fun you are!

You planted us in the garden 

to be fruitful and care for it, 

but we listened to the serpent, 

that crafty, lying creature, 

who made us believe that your word was a lie. 

Thus, we don’t live in the garden. 

We are grieved that we squandered your gift 

and condemned ourselves to death. 

We are thankful that the reptilian word is not final 

because the final Word of the Godman 

crushed his head when his body bled. 

Oh what beautiful specks of red adorned the green of creation

and brightened our darkness with hope, 

pointing us to the cross, 

we are drenched in red and immersed in the Light. 

Who said darkness means lifeless? 

The serpent, not the Savior, 

who turned on the lights in the grave 

and robbed the tomb of his corpse.

God said, “Let there be light! 

He resurrected and so shall we, 

when heaven’s gate opens 

and we skip through a golden street.

Jesus Christ, Light of the world.

We come to you as a familia you called into being, 

imperfect but glorious, 

placed at the Crossroads to be salt and light, 

faithful heralds of the four chapter story. 

Each of us brings our brokenness to you, 

who recreated the world by dying at the cross. 

Oh beautiful specks of green 

that turned a tree of death into a tree of life! 

We surrender the stories we wrote for ourselves 

to the story you wrote for us. 

Come and breathe life into these dry bones! 

Fill our lungs with the hope of redemption 

and our eyes with the sparkles of heaven. 

Help this familia walk on earth as it is in heaven. 

Holy Spirit, Breath of God, 

Fill this familia with life to give and words to speak. 

Words of truth, words of healing, words of salvation. 

Fill our mouths with joy and courage 

to proclaim your four chapters 

and to claim your story for one another

when we don’t have the strength to claim it for ourselves. 

Amen

Dazzling Scars

Lord,

We can’t breathe.

We are wounded.

Crushing pain 

stifles our breath.

How will you ever make

beauty out of these scars,

where pain left its mark?

Oh, but healing leaves a mark too! 

New tissue covers our wounds;

a different shade makes a sign…

A sign that resurrection awaits

that Jesus also wears scars,

where nails once attempted to crush him.

But the serpent can go to Hell,

dragging his sorry self to the pit,

while we bask in the glory of the scars

that once and for all crushed his head.

You disarmed his bite with our scars

and dazzled him with our brokenness.

Only you can use scars as weapons

to blind the generals of darkness

with scar tissue grown in suffering 

and drenched in tears.

Only you, our scarred Savior,

to whom we present our scars 

as offerings of wine and tears.

Amen

Trembling at His Word

This is what the Lord says, 

Heaven is my throne,

and earth is my footstool.

Where could you possibly build a house for me?

And where could my resting place be?

My hand made all these things,

and so they all came into being.

This is the Lord’s declaration.

I will look favorably on this kind of person:

one who is humble,

submissive in spirit,

and trembles at my word.

Isaiah 66:1-2 

God,

You speak order out of chaos,

you make nothing become something

by the power of your word.

You said, let there be light, and there was light.

You said, let there be flying creatures, and birds came to be.

You said, let there be plants, and flowers appeared. 

You said, you said, you said!  

Creative energy flowed,

atoms formed elements,

elements molecules,

molecules compounds,

compounds live-giving structures,

order out of chaos

because of what you said.

At your command

the sun rises and sets,

moon and stars adorn the darkness,

flowers splash green with color and joy.

The oceans stay in their place,

the earth orbits around the sun,

gravity tethers us to the ground

because you said, you said, you said.

Your word carries your power,

the power of the One who sits in heaven

but rests his feet on earth,

the power of the One no earthly temple contains,

the power of the One whose word is as good as done.

Why don’t we tremble at your word?

Why don’t we rush to obey your commands?

Why is obedience not urgent?

Is it because we deem our self-government loftier than yours?

Is it because we are too comfortable on our own?

Is it because we believe the Serpent’s lie?

That we know what is good,

that we know what is best,

that we know what is true, 

that we know what is beautiful?

Why, Lord, why don’t we tremble at your word?

Why don’t we rush to obey your commands?

Why is obedience not urgent?

Oh, Lord!

We lament

that we study your word, but fail to do what it says,

that we are filled with knowledge without deeds,

that we negotiate our obedience with comfort,

that we have not deem your beauty worthy of our prompt obedience.

We lament

that we have trampled on your Word,

not trembled before Him, 

by refusing his light, 

by resisting his cross-shaped mold,

by embracing a false resurrection devoid of a cross.

We lament

that we have trampled on your Word

by embracing security over sacrifice

and self-sovereignty over surrender.

We have trampled on Him

by keeping the key to our souls 

and looking for words of eternal life in empty elsewheres.

We lament

that we have trampled on Jesus 

by ignoring our neighbors,

by judging instead of showing solidarity,

by aiming our feet to the powerful and away from the poor,

and extending our hand in arrogance instead of humility.

We lament that we are not humble.

We lament that we are not submissive.

We lament that we do not tremble at your word.

Oh Lord!

Forgive us.

We repent of our self-government.

We repent of our knowledge without deeds

and faith without works. 

We surrender the keys of our souls to your Spirit.

We submit to your cross-shaped molding.

Oh Lord!

You who re-created the world by sending the Word,

you who repeated “let there be light” 

by sending Light with legs,

you who spoke order out of chaos 

through Jesus’ perfect life,

sacrificial death

and powerful resurrection,  

come and breathe life on us, 

shine your light into our hearts, 

shape our souls into a cross,

drive away our rebellion, 

so that we may tremble at your word

and obey it with urgency.

Amen

Lord, 
We are anxious.

What will we eat, wear, and keep?

Will we marry or will we not? 

And if we will, who would it be?

Our minds, restless with worry,

wonder if the hustle is worth it, 

if the toil of each day matters,

if the world will ever heal.

Our hearts are bleeding, 

wounded with unfulfilled desires,

sore with the sorrow of invisibility,

eaten alive by loneliness.

The truth is we are broken,

chattered by a world that groans.

Brokenness unmasked by anxiety

revelas wounds that won’t heal 

and angst about what we can’t know. 

But brokenness is also hope,

for you are near to the brokenhearted

and Savior of the crushed in Spirit.

Our brokenness is a glory magnet! 

Oh, Lord, 

Let your glory eclipse our doubt.

Let it transform our anxiety into dependence. 

Let us, broken as as are, shine with the glory of your Son.

You who comfortably sits among ruins

come and dwell among us

broken pieces of flesh 

of different colors and luster,

but all welcome into your mosaic of glory.

Jesus, let us gather around you

to hear about the peace you won for us

and linger in the sound of your voice that whispers,

“You are more cherished than many sparrows”

Amen