Prayers

Wholehearted

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments


“I give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify your name forever.” – Psalm 86:12

My heart is fractured, God.

Let’s face it, it’s been broken by
the disappointments and betrayals of
my all-too-human life. What mortar can
rebuild the broken soul?

My heart is fractured, God.

My heart is torn by contradictions, pulling me
from one side to the other. If
it were a matter of but two directions, I
could manage – but it’s more than two.

My heart is fractured, God.

Not all my inclinations and desires
content me, God. I know that some are sin,
and know you know which other ones are sin,
that I am happy to delight in.

My heart is fractured, God.

How can I give you thanks
with a whole heart? My heart is shattered in
the bony cage which carries it.
I sing a wild cacophony of praise.

My heart is fractured, God.

But you, O God, are merciful.
Your grace abounds beyond imagination. You
forgive and heal and give me strength. Someday,
perhaps, I’ll praise with a heart that’s whole.

A poem/prayer based on Psalm 86:11-17, the Revised Common Lectionary Alternate Psalm Reading for Year A, Proper 11 (16).

The image is A Paper-made “Broken Heart” by Sakazaki at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=55764723.

Like Jesus

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments


“For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.” – Matthew 11:18-19

There was a time they said I looked like Jesus. I
had grown my hair quite long, and wore a beard
whose scraggly thinness I would not wish on a Savior.

Has anybody ever said I act like Jesus? I
cannot say I have overheard the words,
although it’s true I like to eat and drink.

Nobody, I’m quite sure, has said I look like John,
or act like him. I’m no ascetic. As I said,
it’s true I like to eat and drink.

Nor does it matter. Whether clothes are soft
or ragged, whether wine is sweet or sour,
the task is still to testify to truth:

That God is real, and God is loving. God
cares about the ways we treat each other, more
than making regular appearances at worship.

God is not fooled by fools, and not by shrewd
deceit. Yes, God will judge, and yes, God will forgive,
but God will grieve for every sin we wreak upon each other.

So unconcerned about my clothes and diet, I
still wonder: does anybody think I act
like Jesus, righteous, showing love and grace?

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Proper 9 (14).

Photo of Eric Anderson by Eric Anderson.

During my first year of college, I was cast in a play set in the 17th century. To look “the part” a little better, all the male actors let their hair and beards grow. During my spring break back home, a number of old friends insisted that I looked like Jesus, much to my surprise and consternation. I think I’ve finally lost the portrait photo taken for the lobby display, which is all for the best.

Don’t You Think I’d Rather Tell You What I Want to Hear?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

“And the prophet Jeremiah said, ‘Amen! May the LORD do so; may the LORD fulfill the words that you have prophesied and bring back to this place from Babylon the vessels of the house of the LORD and all the exiles.'” – Jeremiah 28:6

I hoped I’d have a simple life. I had
ambition, certainly. I would succeed
but in a nation resting in its justice, peace,
its people living all in righteousness.

It was a pleasant dream. Though some
may learn while young how hard the heart
of human beings may be, I hardly knew.
With age I learned that things were not as I assumed.

And so I find myself today a croaking voice
of warning, heard sometimes with pity (which
is better than contempt). I’d tear my hair,
except I know I’d add derision to contempt.

Do you not think I’d rather say that everything
will be all right? Do you not think I’d rather claim
that the illusions of my childhood will
become our daily bread and feed us all?

The prophets long before me named the sins
impoverishing the poor, empowering the rich,
and warned that these would undermine
the underpinnings of the covenant,

The covenant with God, and with the people who
are paid so little, and who ask that if
they lack the wealth, at least they might receive
the justice to maintain themselves in life.

Increasingly this justice is denied. Increasingly
this covenant is broken, as the rich
grow wealthier, and the poor grow desperate,
and imperiled populations walk in fear.

Do you not think I’d rather tell you what
I want to hear? I yearn to live my working life
and my retired life in peace. The times say otherwise.
And though I’d rather tell you lies, I’ll speak the truth.

I’ll speak the truth I do not wish to hear.

A poem/prayer based on Jeremiah 28:5-9, the Revised Common Lectionary Alternate First Reading for Year A, Proper 8 (13).

The image is Jeremiah Lamenting the Destruction of Jerusalem by Rembrandt van Rijn (1630). Web Gallery of Art:   Image  Info about artwork, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15417236.

Cast Out This Slave Woman with Her Son

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

“But Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, playing with her son Isaac. So she said to Abraham, ‘Cast out this slave woman with her son, for the son of this slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac.'” – Genesis 21:9-10

They laughed, the boys at play.
How many mothers watched? But one
saw threat and dissolution of
the wealth expected for her own.

How precious was her Laughter! She
had laughed to hear an angel say
that she would bear a much-desired son,
for she had forced her maid already to

Her husband’s bed, there to conceive
the older laughing child. No wonder that
she laughed, not just at things that could not be,
but that she’d brought an heir to life.

But now, she finds that promises fulfilled
have made a change. The boy she forced
another human being to bear, what is his place?
She could not bear to share the wealth.

“Go, cast them out,” she said to Abraham.
“He cannot have a place beside my son.”
Now Abraham had argued with his God
to find a place for his first born, but no.

He would not argue with his wife. He cast
them out. He knew the skin of water would
not last, and neither would the food. He cast
them out to where the sun would bleach their bones.

They were disposable, these two,
to Sarah and to Abraham. They’d had
a purpose once, but it had flown.
No purpose in the camp? Then go.

Too often and too many people find
they have been named “disposable”
by others with the power to displace
them, cast them out, and let them die.

But God, despite a failure to tell Abraham
and Sarah, “No. You shall not kill,” at least
preserved the lives of Hagar and of Ishamael,
declared that they were not disposable.

How soon will our humanity see what
our sacred texts still strain to see: no people are
disposable. All souls have worth to God,
and if to God, then how much more to us?

A poem/prayer based on Genesis 21:8-21, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Proper 7 (12).

The image is Agar and Ismael (Hagar and Ishmael) by Jean-Charles Cazin (before 1880) – webmuseo.com, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16403268.

But I Can’t

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

“[Jesus said,] ‘As you go, proclaim the good news, “The kingdom of heaven has come near.” Cure the sick; raise the dead; cleanse those with a skin disease; cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.'” – Matthew 10:7-8

Give without payment, O Lord? But I can’t.
How will I eat, where will I sleep,
if I don’t have a contract or letter of call?

What do you mean, life has no guarantee?

Cast out the demons, O Lord? But I can’t.
I’m not sure I’d recognize a demon in person,
and surely I’m lacking the strength for such spirits.

What do you mean, my strength is in you?

Cleanse those with a skin disease, Lord? But I can’t.
Ask my dermatologist. My own skin’s a problem.
I cannot heal myself, let alone someone else.

What do you mean, bring healing, not cure?

Cure the sick, you say, Lord? But I can’t.
I’ve no more control over illness of body than skin.
Send the physician to those who are sick.

What do you mean, you are a physician of souls?

Raise the dead, you say, Lord? But I can’t.
If I had such power, I’d have used it already,
to hold all the loves that I’ve lost in my life.

What do you mean, give hope to the hopeless,
strength to the fainting? What do you mean,
pilot the rudderless, encourage the fearful?

What do you mean, breathe life into your Body?

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 9:35-10:8, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Proper 6 (11).

The image is The Sick Awaiting the Passage of Jesus (Les malades attendant le passage de Jésus) by James Tissot (between 1886 and 1894) – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2006, 00.159.118_PS1.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195961.

Watch… Me?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

[Jesus said,] “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.'” – Matthew 9:13

Would you like to know what blessing is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know what light is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know what righteousness is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know what love is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know what honesty is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

Would you like to know faithfulness is? asks Jesus:
Watch me.

If you watch me, says Jesus, you will find compassion.
You will find forgiveness.
You will find welcome.

If you watch me, says Jesus, you will find healing.
You will find inclusion.
You will find life.

The challenge, says Jesus, for those who would follow me,
is when people would know about
blessing and light, righteousness, love.
When people would know about
honesty, faithfulness, healing, inclusion, and life:
What will they see when they watch you?

And I ask:
What will they see
when they watch me?

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

Photo by Eric Anderson.

Praise the Poet

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments


God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day. – Genesis 1:31

Praise the Poet, Breath and Wind and Word,
who movement on the waters stirred up light
and night and land and sea, stars and planet whirling
on the cosmographic page.

Praise the Poet, summoning the earth to green abundance,
summoning the seas to swarm with life,
summoning the trees to welcome birdsong,
summoning the land to bear the tracks of feet.

Praise the Poet, maker of more poets, speakers of the word,
creators in the image of Creator, author of more authors.
A human writer often finds their characters find their direction.
The Poet watches poets make a universe of words.

A poet of the people, though, relies upon the languages
of human speech, on rhyme and rhythm and multiple meanings,
while God has written in broad rays of light, in buzzing bees,
in sweet perfume, in gentle touch, in salt upon the tongue.

Praise the Poet, Breath and Wind and Word!

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.

Looking Carefully

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments


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.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. – Acts 17:23

Not looking carefully, I typed “Kiijubg” as first word
for the title of this poem/prayer.

It’s not a word I’ve seen before; I’d struggle to define it,
and truthfully it’s definitely not the word I meant.

But Shaw once wrote that when a thing is funny, search it for a hidden truth
(and promptly replied to himself that it takes all the fun out of it).

That fierce and fascinating man from Tarsus, though offended
by the shrines to idols all about, found one shrine

Which honored Agnostos Theos (perhaps); enough to base
a sermon on, to find a common root within a verdant forest

Of complex and disparate devotion,
and twist a cord to complement relationship

Between the human children worshiping the God of Jacob,
and the human children worshiping Olympians.

If Paul had looked less carefully, perhaps his ire for idols
would have leapt to his lips.

Instead his plea for understanding fell on ears
which heard. Some scoffed, it’s true,

But if he’d launched into a diatribe against the shrines,
what could they do but scoff and turn away?

For anger, like a hand misplaced upon the keys,
makes meaningless its words, however filled with hope.

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

The image is a photo of the “Altar of the unknown god” ca. 90-110 CE, discovered on the Palatine Hill in Rome (not Athens) in 1820. Photo by Sailko – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=56294298. The inscription can be translated, “Whether sacred to god or to goddess, Gaius Sextius Calvinus, son of Gaius, praetor, restored this on a vote of the senate.”

Flexible Hope

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments


“But filled with the Holy Spirit, he [Stephen] gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God.” – Acts of the Apostles 7:55

I wonder about Stephen, what he knew
when he was brought before the council of
the priests. Did he expect they’d hear him out?
Or see the door as gateway to his grave?

Oh what a fool he was to speak the words
he did if he had hope they’d hear him as
they’d heard out the apostles not so long
before, and waited on the signs of God.

Yes, “stiff-necked people” echoed Genesis,
and all he said about the troubled times
of their ancestors had been said before
by those who crafted First and Second Kings,

But telling those in power that they lived
just as their grim progenitors had done,
as faithless slayers of the prophets, roused
their wrath and spurred them order his death.

Now, if he had a hope of being heard
he spoke the ravings of a fool, and died
for it, but if saw the writing on
the wall, he spoke a liberated word.

Without a hope of living through this trial,
his mind and tongue could speak his fearless truth,
his soul adjust to choose another hope,
one which did not rely on human beings.

“I see the heavens opened and the Son
of Man, who stands there next to God,” he said,
and as they dragged him to his death, he found
that hope is flexible enough for all.

A poem/prayer based on Acts 7:55-60, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Fifth Sunday of Easter.

The image is The Martyrdom of Saint Stephen by Bernardo Daddi (ca. 1337-1338). Photo by Sailko – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=73011620.

Gate

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

“So again Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep.'” – John 10:7

It’s not your most compelling image, Jesus. In
a section where you said, “I am…”
three times, how many hold this one in memory?
To say the truth, I barely do.

And yet a gate is comforting. It guards a home,
a sheepfold, or a soul from harm.
It’s hardly perfect, since a thief may climb the wall:
They’ll have to work to work their ill.

The beauty of a gate is not protective force,
but its capacity to swing,
admitting those outside who’ve recognized the voice
and come to claim their place and home.

You tell us you are gatekeeper and gate. May we
remember that the gate is you,
and when we close it, we usurp your power, your
authority. and you yourself.

May we have faith and wisdom both to hold the gate
wide open for the gathering flock
and only close it in the most compelling circumstance,
then open it with welcome love.

A poem/prayer based on John 10:1-10, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Fourth Sunday of Easter.

Photo of a gate by Eric Anderson.