“My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick.” – Jeremiah 8:18

Tell me, Jeremiah, down across the centuries,
just what you knew or thought you knew
when vainly seeking balm in Gilead?

Did you lament Josiah’s sad and foolish death?
Or did you hope that Judah would repent?
Or had you come to grieve disaster still to come?

Anticipatory grief.

Ah, Jeremiah, called so young, who saw
Josiah’s candle snuffed so raw,
whose life was marked by shameful taunts and blows,

Who raged anew at warnings burned,
who urged reform when few would hear,
who languished on a cistern’s sodden floor.

Anticipatory grief.

Your griefs indeed took form, took fire,
your people’s cries rebounded from
the city’s crumbling walls.

And so we hear again your warning to
avoid oppressing those at risk
or risk the consequences of our evil…

Anticipatory grief.

A poem/prayer based on Jeremiah 8:18-9:1, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year C, Proper 20 (25).

The image is Cry of prophet Jeremiah on the Ruins of Jerusalem by Ilya Repin (1870), http://www.art-catalog.ru/picture.php?id_picture=11437, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3257688.

“Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it?” – Luke 15:8

If my fortune were confined
to just ten coins, well, Jesus,
then I’d search and search
to find the one I’d lost.

And if my flock were just
a century, and one astray,
because I treasure life I’d search
until I found it safe and whole.

The trouble is, dear Jesus,
that you’ve used the coin and sheep
as if they represented people
lost and disregarded.

If they were precious, we would seek.
Because we do not seek, you know they’re not.
Not precious to us.
Not precious in the world we’ve made.

And there you are, lamp-bearer,
there you are, sheep-seeker,
for those we do not treasure
are so precious in your sight.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 15:1-10, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 19: (24).

The image is Parable of the Lost Drachma (ca. 1618) by Domenico Fetti – Web Gallery of Art:   Info about artwork, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15453383.

“Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years.” – Luke 13:10-11

Wait now, just wait.
I know it hurts – I feel your pain.
But now is not the time.
The time will come when… it comes.
Until then, wait. Just wait.

Wait now, just wait.
I know you’re burdened – I carry it with you –
But things are just not ready.
You’ll have to carry it until the time is ripe.
Until then, wait. Just wait.

Wait now, just wait.
I know oppression harms you – I’m there with you.
But hearts have not been opened.
Hang on for just a little while.
Until then, wait. Just wait.

“But the Lord answered him and said… ‘And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?'” – Luke 13:15a, 16

A poem/prayer based on Luke 13:10-17, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 16 (21).

The image is Christ Heals the Hunchback Woman, a mosaic in the Monreale Cathedral, Palermo, Sicily, Italy. Photo by Sibeaster – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4470788.

“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed!” – Luke 12:49-50

I do not see the flames alight
and sweeping through the trees,
charcoaling the grasses,
clouding out the sun.

I hear their crackling roar
in your frustrated voice,
creaking with impatience,
choking on anticipated smoke.

I do not see the water
beckoning you forward,
at once inviting and malignant,
that will close above your crown.

I see the falling water, Jesus,
streaking in the ever-present
dust its path from eye to lips:
the tracing of your tears.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 12:49-56, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 15 (20).

Photo of a statue of Mary Magdalene in the Sépulcre de l’église Saint-Martin (Arc-en-Barrois, France). Photo by User:Vassil – File:Sépulcre_Arc-en-Barrois_111008_12.jpg, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16942922.

“For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” – Luke 11:10

I’m knocking, Jesus.
I can’t say the door is opening.
I can’t say my search is finding anything.
I can’t say my asking is receiving very much at all.

But…

I can hear you knocking, Jesus.
I wonder if your asking is receiving very much from me?
I wonder if your search is finding anything from me?
I wonder if my heart’s door is opening to you?

Knock, knock.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 11:1-13, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 12 (17).

The image is a detail of a 19th century steel engraving by Peter Carl Geissler – scan of original engraving. Uploaded by Scoo., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1353191.

“[Martha] had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying.” – Luke 10:38-42

I’m listening, Jesus. Can’t you hear me listening?

I’m listening while I’m working.
See how hard I’m working.
All alone I’m working.
Don’t you care? I’m working.

And I’m listening while I’m working.
Have no fear about that, now. I’m listening.

I’m working because there’s work.
So much need, so much work.
Who else is working?
Don’t you care I’m working?

Still listening; still working.
Don’t worry about listening. I am listening.

The needs, they keep shifting.
Some things I’ve done aren’t working.
I’ll try something new.
Don’t you care to share something new?

Let me get this done while I’m listening.
Speak your peace, Jesus. I’m listening.

Yes, I’m listening, Jesus.

Can’t you hear me listening?

A poem/prayer based on Luke 10:38-42, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 11 (16).

The story of Mary and Martha has often been used to praise contemplative spirituality and criticize engagement with others. I think that’s a misleading reading. Jesus commented on Martha’s worry and distraction, not her activity. What distinguished the two women was that Mary listened. Someone with a spirituality of involvement can be an active listener to Jesus, and a contemplative can certainly listen to self rather than to Christ.

The photo is of a fresco depicting Mary, Martha, and Jesus in Martha’s house. The fresco is in the St. Lazarus Roman Catholic Church in al-Eizariah (Biblical Bethany). Photo by Fallaner – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=72990656.

“Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.” – Luke 10:31-32

They had reasons, I’m sure, to take the other side.
I can’t imagine all the obligations they’d have had,
of family and church and ordinary daily life.
They had their reasons, yes, I’m sure.

Did their reasons reassure a dying man?

Do I have reasons? Yes, I have, commitments overwhelming.
I try to think “strategically,” to “choose my battles,” “save
the energy for when it’s needed,” “take my rest.”
I have my reasons in their legions.

Do my reasons reassure a threatened woman?

Do we have our reasons? Yes, we have. Resources are
not infinite by any means. What this one gets, another one
does not. Dare we deprive another for the needs of one?
We have more reasons than responses.

Do our reasons reassure a grieving child?

Do we have our reasons? Yes, of all the things
we call our own, we cling to reasons – even more
than gold or power or privilege or guns.
We have our reasons and we will not let them go.

Do our reasons satisfy the One whose love embraces dying souls?

A poem/prayer based on Luke 10:25-37, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 10 (15).

The image is El bon samarità (The Good Samaritan) (1838) by Pelegrí Clavé i Roqué – Reial Acadèmia Catalana de Belles Arts de Sant Jordi, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21454886.

“Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!'” – Luke 10:5

“Someone’s at the door.”

“You get it.”

Pause

“Who is it?”

“Two people bringing peace!”

“Piece? Piece of what?”

“Not piece of something, peace!”

“Oh, honestly. These people. Always selling peace.”

“I don’t think they’re selling it.”

“I’ll bet they’ll tell you the price if you ask.”

“Mostly they look confused.”

“What do they look like?”

“Well… tired. Like they’ve been walking all day.”

“If you make your living selling door to door, you’ll walk all day.”

“It looks like they could use new sandals.”

“Tell them to check the sandal shop across the village.”

“I think they’re hoping we’ll offer hospitality.”

“Oh. Really. Is that it? Tell me more. Do they have bags?”

“No bags.”

“A sleeping roll?”

“I can’t see one.”

“How about a second tunic?”

“No.”

“A purse? Money?”

“They don’t seem to have any money, no.”

“Not sellers, then. They’re beggars.”

“Um. I don’t think they’re beggars, either.”

“They are if they’re asking hospitality and have nothing to share.”

“Well, they’re offering peace.”

“Can you hear my eyes rolling from there?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Send them on their way.”

“Couldn’t you use some peace?”

“Where would I find time for peace?”

A conversational poem/prayer based on Luke 10:1-11, 16-20, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 9 (14).

Photo of traditional icon by Ikonopisatelj – http://chattablogs.com/aionioszoe/archives/70Apostles.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3536332.