The Consolations of Writing

Catechism 42

Van Gogh - Stillleben mit Bibel — Van Gogh – Stillleben mit Bibel

How is the Word of God to be read and heard? With diligence, preparation, and prayer; so that we may accept it with faith, store it in our hearts, and practice it in our lives. (New City Catechism)

And teach. Let us be ready:

the hands poised beneath the pages,

holding open, as in prayer;

the eyes attuned, the ears listening,

the spirit waiting,

the Spirit turning

hearts to hear and grow.

And store:

though minds are dull

and eyes may wander,

teach and hold

and store within

the mind’s recesses truths received.

Rebuke! Transform!

Let grace unfold

in pages turned in time, absorbed,

ingested, stored in minds and souls,

ready now to grow.

Catechism 41

What is the Lord’s Prayer?

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us today our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we have also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

(New City Catechism)

Hands upraised,        hands open

        imploring              yet worshipping

receiving              yet giving

        asking                 yet content

forgiven               and forgiving

        on earth,              as it is in heaven;

now                    forever

        delivered             yet

              daily caught in moments’ fear…

Our Father     here    and Heaven’s king:

            teach us how to pray.

Epiphany: To an unknown painter

Unknown 16th century German painter, Wikimedia Commons

Too regal:
There were no drapes to hail Him king,
no cherubim in the background, aloft,
casually decking the scene, mid-song.

Yet this is right: if there were crowns,
they would be laid at His feet; and knees,
if wise, would know to bend.

We foresee the pious, in the corners, turned
toward their future king; and a long journey figured
in streets and hills, and horses mounting them.

The light’s far off, yet faces seem illumined.
Only the darker ones lack light: an error, this.
Epiphany brightens most the faces least expected here.

Not contained: the cost, the snorts of Herod,
the proud reflex to kill. All this smarts, demands
pensive faces show contrition to be brought here.

Is there room for us? We have no robes, King.
And yet, if cattle may rest above the frankincense,

we may also bow and drink Your light.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas

For most people, Christmas is now over. The supermarkets are already stocking hot cross buns. But in the traditional church calendar, today is the last day of the season of Christmas – a season lasting twelve days, as we remember in the old song. Why remember Christmas for twelve days instead of one? If nothing else, it gives us a chance to think about what it really means, once the distractions have died down, and to look more closely at what comes next in the story.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas

Tradition says to put away the tree,
Though yours perhaps has already come down,
The children sullen, home a new-year frown,
And resolutions stowed in the pantry.

“Back to work,” you say. And in the streets
The same straight-fixéd gazes all around,
Ear-buds containing every inward sound.
My-true-love-sent-to-me, pit-pat your feet.

Perhaps you’ve still some toys to play with, or
There’s thank-you letters now for kids to start.
Yet on the twelfth day, Jesus still grew strong
And Mary treasured all things in her heart;
And stars still blazed for those who journeyed on,
Not numbed like us who know the yearly score.

Luke 2: The Shepherds and the Temple

Rembrandt van Rijn - Adoration of the Shepherds — Rembrandt van Rijn – Adoration of the Shepherds

The child interrupts

           commerce,

                 the daily graze of life,

                            the expectations

                 of a quiet night in the fields.

The child demands

            leaving flocks,

                  abandoning norms,

                         following the angel’s call

                     in evening disquiet.

The child enters

            the daily,

                   the simple: cries, shivers,

                          needs food and warmth,

                      yet transforms it all.

The child fulfils

            centuries

                  of longing, of waiting:

                        consoles, answers, pierces;

                      a sword, a king, a child.

Luke 1: Zechariah and Mary

Portrait de Zacharie et d'Elisabeth - James Tissot (Brooklyn Museum, Wikimedia Commons) — Portrait de Zacharie et d’Elisabeth – James Tissot (Brooklyn Museum, Wikimedia Commons)

No surprise, perhaps,

    that the impossible’s not

a boundary    for the one who lit stars

and sculpted the mountains,           watered –

drew water from –    our rock.

Yet unexpected now, this figure

in temple,       in dreams,

beholding and saying

what’s seldom been said, more seldom believed:

The barren with child?

     A new way prepared?

        The virgin a mother?

           The hearts of the parents

                turned to their children,

        and souls taught to thirst after justice?

Behold –

these microscopic miracles of everyday grace:

Life folded in             zygotic life,

            faith found in anguish,

the courage of obedience,

speechlessness turned

to vocal trust,

     all caught up in

the moment of saying,

       “I am His servant.

    Let it be so with me.”

OCD Prayer for the New Year

What lies behind corners can hurt or heal;

What lurks in this heart can wound or bless.

What triggers in mind can remind of the past;

What future is clean is unknown.

Whatever contaminates; whatever is sick;

Whatever is broken, whatever will break;

Whatever may lift and whatever may tarry:

God give, God take, God give.

What heartache or heartsong the year’s days can bring,

What closeness, what checking, what flinching, what kiss;

What cross and what glory; what angst-enclosed fist;

Whatever awaits in the darks of the year:

Lord, hold, hold, hold.

Shoots and Stumps

“At least there is hope for a tree: If it is cut down, it will sprout again, and its new shoots will not fail.”
(Job 14:7)

And new life sprouts where old life is cut down:
See little shoots burst forth from severed trunk;
The earth is singing where its joy was sunk;
The smallest hope will make the largest sound.
And see the stump of Jesse? In the ground
Are rumblings of roots. The soil is drunk
With prayer and fear. What once was lost is found!
It shall not shout; the hope’s a baby still.
Yet stars are guiding wise men to its bed
And shepherds know the shepherd from the herd.
In winter snow, an unexpected thrill
Is stirring in the leaves. The rocks which said,
“Prepare the way,” now echo at His Word.

Max Richter – Vivaldi Four Seasons Royal Albert Hall

Christmas Monday

Well: perhaps, you went to church the day before,
Heard Jesus hailed as promise kept, as wise
Old Simeon and Anna wept and saw
The saving one, a babe before their eyes.
Perhaps you picked some turkey from your teeth
And thought of all the washing to be done,
The relatives all gone, so now relief
From cooking up a storm for everyone.
Perhaps the Christmas tree is drooping now;
Perhaps the pool gives comfort in this heat.
Perhaps there’s too much light going around
And, victory done, you fancy quiet defeat.
Keep watch: He grew and walked and made His way
For summer sinners who always doze astray.

Christmas Candle: Christmas is Light

The day comes and goes: families meet; food’s eaten;
As tradition has it, rain comes at night.
What then? Police patrol the festive season;
Roads are blocked in case the Christmas sprite
Has rendered some of us unsafe to drive.
So wait. The moment passes, and too soon
The chance will leave as quick as it arrived.
Within the scheduled week there still is room,
Yet hearts congeal and work expands like gas
When holidays are done. No holy days?
Each moment hides deep grace; and though it pass
The pregnant hope of things will have its way.
Open eyes to see the swelling joy
Of light and life amidst our vacant noise.