Blessed are the poor, you say?
I turn to shroud my laughter.
Blessed are the hungry now? Indeed?
I pop a snack into my mouth to hide the grin.
Blessed are the weepers?
Sure. No doubt. Except for… not.
Blessed are the hated and reviled?
Then you, Humanity’s Child, are the most blessed of all.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 6:17-26, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, 6th Sunday after the Epiphany.
January 2019 photo taken in Leilani Estates by Eric Anderson.
I think he saw it coming: Simon Peter did.
I think the groaning nets, the slapping water,
the skittering fish, the creaking hull,
awoke his dazed awareness of the future,
of the streams of time.
No wonder he so quickly knelt and sought
to have You go away. To heal a mother-in-law:
that’s well and good. A lingering prophet, though,
demands a change of course.
Of course he saw it coming, Simon Peter did.
As fish strained hopelessly for their last watery breath,
he held his own as hopelessly he waited.
You knew, he knew, and Andrew, James, and John:
You’d caught the fisherman.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 5:1-11, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, 5th Sunday after the Epiphany.
Photo by Eric Anderson.
No! I wasn’t thinking that! Get out of my head, Jesus!
“Physician, cure yourself”? No: I didn’t think that,
at least I didn’t if you judge quite narrowly.
I might have thought – just might, you know –
that here you are, enlisting me
to help redeem the world, and who, I want to know,
was left in charge, and left so great a mess!
No! I wasn’t thinking that! Get out of my head, Jesus!
“Do here the things you did in other places”? No,
or well, perhaps. OK, I thought it. There. So there.
But who would not consider such a question, when
the days build on from days, absent miracle,
filled with suffering, maladies, and pain.
So yes, I’d like to see the wonders others have.
No! I wasn’t thinking that! Get out of my head, Jesus!
I’ll honor you, for sure. My home town is not Nazareth,
so you are not the local wonder, raised from penury
to power. You are not one I’ve known for years,
a face familiar to me as the mirror’s gaze.
Except, of course, you are: Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
hamstrung for my comfort’s sake.
Stop reading my mind, Jesus, or I’ll bring you to the edge of my cliff.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 4:21-30, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, 4th Sunday after the Epiphany.
Photo by Eric Anderson.
The rest can argue, argue, argue, God
(My God, how they can argue!)
about the preaching son of a carpenter,
about the son of Mary.
But I will not forget, my God,
the way he read the ancient words:
good news to those oppressed,
broken hearts restored,
the captives’ roar of freedom,
the prisoners released.
He spoke, and I heard him proclaim
the acceptable year of the living God.
Good news. Healing.
Freedom. Release.
Your acceptable year.
I will not forget.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 4:14-21, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, 3rd Sunday after the Epiphany.
The image is “Jésus enseigne dans les synagogues” by James Tissot. Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.81_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10957358
Great party, isn’t it, Jesus?
Have you tasted the wine?
I tell you, it’s the best I’ve ever had.
And just imagine! They brought this out
when few of us (but me, the connoisseur)
had drunk too much to know
the difference!
Great party, isn’t it, Jesus?
The servants weave their festive dance,
the jugs refilled at every gesture,
and every guest bears overflowing cup –
except for me, the connoisseur.
I won’t miss a drop. I know
the difference!
Great party, isn’t it, Jesus?
Come, have a cup of wine with me!
I think I’m well ahead of you on this.
Don’t frown into your drinking bowl
as if you scented blood. I’m a connoisseur,
I tell you. I would know
the difference!
Great party, isn’t it, Jesus?
But you recoil from this wine
as if it were long soured,
served upon a reeking sponge
to one crucified. But I’m a connoisseur,
I am. Of wine, I know
the difference.
A poem/prayer based on John 2:1-11, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, 2nd Sunday after the Epiphany.
Photo by Eric Anderson.
I see you waving, Jesus.
I see that mischievous grin.
I see those clenching teeth
behind the dancing laughter.
“Come in!” you cry.
“The water’s fine!”
Uh, huh.
I know that water’s cold.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 3:15-17, 21-22, the Revised Common Lectionary Psalm reading for Year C, 1st Sunday after the Epiphany, the Baptism of Jesus.
The image is the beach at Pohoiki, on the island of Hawai’i. The beach formed from black sand created by the 2018 Puna eruption as hot lava entered the sea. Ocean currents deposited the material here. Photo by Eric Anderson.
Twinkle, twinkle…
Where’s my star, O God?
Where the heavenly beacon
guiding me across my unmapped life
to wonders and to glories?
Where, in all Your heavenly wonder,
is my star?
And perhaps God replies:
Look up, my child.
Look within. You can perceive it.
Seek and find.
My star for you has led you
to this place and time.
It has led you over sea and mountain.
Look, my child. Where your footsteps
run, that is where I led you.
And I reply:
Twinkle, twinkle…
Have I truly followed
this ephemeral guiding star
of Yours? Do not my footprints
wander more than stride?
And where, in all Your wonder,
is the Christ to worship?
And perhaps God laughs:
You wandered? Does that mean
you did not follow the guiding star?
The magi, after all,
first went to the wrong city.
Yet truly you, as they,
seek first awry. For you will find
the Christ is always with you:
always with you in your heart.
A poem/prayer based on Matthew 2:1-12, the Revised Common Lectionary Psalm reading for Year C, Epiphany.
The image is the Bethlehem Star that has adorned Church of the Holy Cross during the Advent and Christmas seasons for many years. Photo by Eric Anderson.
I confess uncertainty, O God,
in coming to you with this ancient prayer
of Mary’s, scattering the proud.
I look upon this world and see
a glaring need for scattering the proud.
Perhaps a table turned or two.
Yes, scatter all the proud, O God,
as Mary saw, unless: one of
the proud you’d scatter would be me.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 1:45b-55, the Revised Common Lectionary Psalm reading for Year C, Advent 4.
The image is “Saint Jean Baptiste prêchant devant Hérode Antipas” by Pieter de Grebber.
“Brood of vipers”? Now isn’t that a little harsh?
I only bite a little, and I hardly bark at all…
any more.
What shall I do to demonstrate
that I will neither bark nor bite
any more?
Give from my abundance? Sure,
I’ll give the coat away I don’t use
any more.
Don’t overcharge my creditors?
That’s easy! I don’t even bill my clients
any more.
Don’t line my pockets by abusing
my position? Easily done! So John, got
any more?
No? No more? You’re pretty gracious
for a prophet. I won’t fret about vipers
any more.
Now, Jesus, with his softer words,
he’d ask more. He’d say I’d know no safety
any more.
He’d say to leave my family, all
familiar things, and have no home
any more.
I guess that I won’t call you stern
and terrible, sweet Baptist,
any more.
Ah, John. We are alike, we two. We chose
to follow Jesus, and we are not the same
any more.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 3:7-18, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, Advent 3.
The image is “Saint Jean Baptiste prêchant devant Hérode Antipas” by Pieter de Grebber.
What do I know
of a “way of peace,”
O God? I know
of competition,
games and grades,
measuring my salary
(comparing it with others’).
I know who wins.
I know who loses.
What do I know
of a “way of peace,”
O God? I know
of violence and power,
stern coercion,
strict adjudication
of all faults and crimes.
I know who wins.
I know who loses.
What do I know
of a “way of peace,”
O God? I know
poverty and wealth,
health and illness,
racism and sexism,
tear gas on the border.
I know who wins.
I know who loses.
What do I know
of a “way of peace,”
O God? I know
these many ways
of strife, and grief,
and harm, and death.
And one thing more, perhaps:
If everybody wins,
If not one person loses…
That is the way of peace.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 1:68-79, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, Advent 2.
Photo of a Hilo sunrise by Eric Anderson
ordainedgeek 
