As Jesus was walking along, he saw… (Matthew 9:9)
And as he sat at dinner in the house… (Matthew 9:10)
While he was saying these things to them, suddenly… (Matthew 9:18)
Then suddenly a woman… (Matthew 9:20)
When Jesus came to the leader’s house… (Matthew 9:23)

Skip lightly, Jesus, skip lightly.
Just a pause at the table, just a quick word.
Look how he rises to follow your call!
How lightly his step echoes yours.

Skip lightly, Jesus, skip lightly.
Your words will dance at the table with all.
“Why eat with these people? They know that they need me.
They know I am with them, God’s mercy bestowed.”

Skip lightly, Jesus, skip lightly.
A father arrives; he has fear in his eyes.
“Skip quickly, Jesus, or my daughter dies.”
The dishes, untasted, rest cooling behind.

Skip lightly, Jesus, skip lightly,
as need reaches out for your power to heal.
Stop quickly, Jesus, stop and assure her
her body, renewed, can flourish again.

Skip lightly, Jesus, skip lightly.
Death has come quicker than your skipping feet,
but Death cannot hold what you have raised up,
and the little one joins in the dance.

Skip lightly, Jesus, skip lightly.
From outcast to souls disregarded,
from parent to patient to mourners and on
for a moment, skip lightly with me.

Skip lightly, Jesus, skip lightly.
I cannot hold you to my place and time.
Teach me the skipping, the light-footed step,
that carried your grace to each person’s need.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Proper 5 (10).

The image (which includes the healing of the woman as well as the resurrection of the daughter) comes from the Phillip Medhurst Collection of Bible illustrations in the possession of Revd. Philip De Vere at St. George’s Court, Kidderminster, England. Photo by Philip De Vere – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44393013.

“God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good.” – Genesis 1:31

Well, God, what is good?
Hold on, I’ll see.

When Earth was a chaotic void
amidst a formless universe,
You made the light, and see!
You called it good.

When sky and planet took their shapes
and water rolled alone,
You raised the land and blessed the sea.
You called it good.

When land and ocean bore no life
You whispered to the sands and rocks.
They sprouted greens and reds and blues.
You called it good.

When light was general, You rolled
its radiance into the burning stars,
and gentled night with moonbeams.
You called it good.

When Earth was green but silent
You scattered creatures in the sea and air,
from ocean’s depth to dizzying heights.
You called it good.

When land remained bereft of creatures You
supplied the lack of things that crawl or run.
They slithered and they leapt from pole to pole.
You called it good.

Then You considered all this life
and made anew a pair like You,
created in Your image, and you blessed them.
You called it good.

From tiniest seed to leaf-crowned stem,
from drifting plankton to leviathan,
from wren to soaring albatross,
from smallest ant to elephant,

From woman on to mahu and to man,
from skin of ebony to cinnamon to tan,
from farthest north to deepest south,
from those who speak a myriad of tongues,

You called it good. You called them good.
You called us good. You called Creation good.
And we in foolish bravery would contradict
Your words, and claim that “those” do not deserve our care,

When You declared them good.

A poem/prayer based on Genesis 1:1-2:4a, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Trinity Sunday.

Photo by Eric Anderson.

“And a young man ran and told Moses, ‘Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp.'” – Numbers 11:27

“But others sneered and said, ‘They are filled with new wine.'” – Acts 2:13

Oh, what we would not give for prophecy with order.
These seventy we know.
These two we will ignore.
Oh, what we would not give for prophecy predictable.
Seventy selected
to tell us what we know.

Your Spirit raises prophets without due regard to order.
We’d all do well with twelve.
We’ve no great need for more.
With twelve we’d know the words before the prophets even voice them,
saving time, so much time
we might have to discern.

Why is the Spirit’s call so destructive of our order?
We know our daily ways.
We follow our set hours
Until a strident voice, just like the nails upon a blackboard
unsettles our assurance
and overturns our peace.

Oh, have your own way, Spirit, in the wreckage of our order.
They’ll call us drunk, you know,
Or they’ll run and tattletale.
With Moses, Peter, Matthias, we’ll join the Spirit’s order
alongside Eldad, Mary, Justus,
Medad – and Mary, too.

A poem/prayer based on Acts 2:1-21 and Numbers 11:24-30, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading and Alternate First Reading for Year A, Pentecost Sunday.

The image is Moses Elects the Council of Seventy Elders by Jacob de Wit (1737) – AQGtI5P6nkpYyw at Google Cultural Institute maximum zoom level, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21988106.

This lectionprayer gets a lot of inspiration from Maren Tirabassi’s Blessing the Dice and Barbara Messner’s Variations on Pentecost.

“So when they had come together, they asked him, ‘Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?'” – Acts 1:6

One question, Lord! Is this the time
to make the world we think it ought to be?

Instead of looking to the future, could
you not improve the world yourselves?

A question, Lord! What will we see
as long as eyes are straining toward you?

Well, if you focus on the cloud, you’ll see a mist,
but if you look in people’s faces, there I’ll be.

A question, Lord! Should we wait here
until the day of your return?

If you stay here, who will you tell
about the things I’ve told you these three years?

A question, Lord! If you’ll return just as you left,
should we not set our eyes upon the sky?

Look up as often as you will, but do look down
because you’ll trip and fall, you know as well as I.

A question, Lord! If you’ll return just as you left,
when will that be? How soon? How long?

Oh, friends. My love is with you still.
You’ll see me in each other, and in all.

A poem/prayer based on Act 1:6-14, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Seventh Sunday of Easter.

The image is The Ascension by Theophanes the Cretan (1546) – Web Gallery of Art:   Image  Info about artwork, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15611230.

This poem rose from imagining Jesus’ conversation with his disciples as he ascended like a press conference. Can’t you just hear them calling their questions as the distance increased?

[Paul said,] “For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.'” – Acts 17:23

We didn’t have an altar in
the church where I was raised.
A table bore communion’s bread
and cup before us all.

I’ve seen so many tables since,
and many bear the words
inscribed “In Remembrance of Me”
(oft covered by a cloth).

Since youth I’ve been in churches where
an altar takes its place,
but rarely do they bear a word,
but speak with just their shape.

I wonder: might the wisdom of
those ancient Greeks guide us,
and note upon our altars that
we could know more of God?

Or just, perhaps, revise the way
we spell the “altar” word,
and be prepared at every point
to “alter” what we know.

A poem/prayer based on Act 17:22-31, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Sixth Sunday of Easter.

Photo by Eric Anderson.

“Philip said to him, ‘Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father”‘?” – John 14:8-9

Like Philip, I’ll be satisfied to see
what I expect to see.
His vision might have been of swirling cloud,
or pillar of fire dancing in the night.

And Peter, what would he expect?
An army terrible beneath its banners?
A monarch mighty on a throne
whose feet were tended by his underlings?

The Magdalene anticipated… what?
A corpse? and did not see her friend
until he said her name. Her eyes
were drawn to death.

So I, like Philip, will be satisfied
to see what I expect, for you and I
know well who sets the courses of my soul…
Or, well, at least who claims to set them.

And I, like Philip, must be satisfied
with who you are, O God, and not
what I demand you be, and I, like Thomas, will
be your bewildered follower on the way.

A poem/prayer based on John 14:1-14, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Fifth Sunday of Easter.

The image is The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci (painted between 1494-1498) – Unknown source, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24759.

The image is, of course, what I expect to see – and is therefore a warning against expecting to see it.

[Cleopus and his companion replied,] “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” – Luke 24:21

Cleopus:
We needed a savior,
we followed a healer,
learned some from a teacher.
We were crushed to see
our longed-for Messiah crucified
and slain, and know it was not he.

Judas Iscariot:
We needed a savior,
but he wouldn’t blink,
he wouldn’t lift up the sword.
The Zealot alike is tamed.
He must be forced his power,
even if by his friend he’s betrayed.

Simon Peter:
What shall I make of the winds
of these days? I ran, then I stopped.
I followed and denied.
I’ve looked in the empty tomb.
Between death and failure my heart
subsides, has settled into gloom.

Mary Magdalene:
He set me free from torment within.
I watched him set others free.
You wanted a Savior? You had one, you know!
Now the angels claim he lives once more
and I’ve come to spread the news
to find my word ignored.

Me:
You’ve disappointed us all, O Christ.
We’ve asked for the things you won’t give
(So we’ve taken them instead).
If we’re disappointed, what about you?
Abandoned, betrayed, denied, ignored,
as you labor to lead us to truth.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 24:13-35, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Third Sunday of Easter.

The image is Cena in Emmaus (Supper in Emmaus) by Caravaggio (1601)- Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10251374.