Prayers

Retreat

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. – Mark 1:35-36

You started ministry, O Savior, in retreat.
You rose from Jordan’s cleansing water and
retreated to the wilderness.
I guess temptation’s not precisely a
vacation, is it? Still, forty days
away from obligation sounds,
well, pretty good.

Then just a few days into ministry –
such active days, with teaching in
the synagogue there in Capernaum,
the place where everybody knew your name,
and were surprised to hear you speak with force,
and issue a command a demon must
perforce, obey,

Then healing Simon’s ailing mother-in-law
(where was his wife, I wonder?), and
the others who, with Sabbath ended,
made their way to Simon’s house in search
of respite from their pains, their demons quashed,
their illnesses relieved, their spirits freed,
their futures brightened –

Now you step away from exorcism, healing touch,
and liberating word. Now you seek night’s sheltering cloak,
to hide you from those seeking you. Now you
ask, perhaps, if struggling with the Tempter
might have been the gentlest part of ministry.
Now you seek a rest in God more healing
than a night of sleep.

The fishermen became the hunters, then.
They sought you, tracked you, brought you down
as arrow brings the hart unto its knees.
“They seek you, Jesus.” That was their excuse,
but you, and they, knew well their desperate need
to be with, learn from, follow you
in a new day.

You rise. You slap the clinging dust away
from off your robe. You slip the sandals on
(perhaps you’d shed them so to pray on holy ground).
“Let us go on,” you told them. Yes, they’re welcome
on the road of ministry, as weary as it is.
You’ll make your times of solitude along the Way
and maybe, they will, too.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 1:29-39, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is an illustration of Mark 1 by Distant Shores Media/Sweet Publishing, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18886209.

Astounded

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. – Mark 1:22

Astounded I was, for certain – not, however,
in a good way.

I know there’s nuance, theory, opinion,
but not so this Jesus.

I’m a great one for clarity. Say what you think
but modestly, right?

Not so this Jesus. He laid it out clear
and said he was right.

Astounded I was, and a little offended
by arrogance there.

That’s when the shouting began. Oh, not me.
A poor man afflicted

By demons within. I knew him. We knew him.
The Teacher did, too.

“I know who you are!” he cried out, then called him
“the holy one of God.”

I was moving to gentle him, comfort him, lead him
away and to home, when

Jesus delivered his order: “Be silent! Come out
of his spirit!” And silence.

The man drew his breath, then exhaled with a sigh,
clearing the tension away.

He smiled, gave his thanks, took his seat near the wall.
Nobody knew what to say.

And now I must listen again to this arrogant Jesus
who seems to know everything,

Because with a word he set this man’s spirit free.
None of the rest of us did.

Perhaps Jesus’ ideas are not just opinion. Perhaps
he knows more than he says.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 1:21-28, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is Christ Healing a Possessed Man in the Synagogue at Capernaum, an 11th century fresco in the bell tower of Lambach Abbey, Lambach, Austria, by an unknown artist – Scan aus: Rudolf Lehr –- Landes-Chronik Oberösterreich, Wien: Verlag Christian Brandstätter 2004 S. 79 ISBN 3-85498-331-X, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6633986.

Nathanael

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

“Philip found Nathanael and said to him, ‘We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.’ Nathanael said to him, ‘Can anything good come out of Nazareth?’ Philip said to him, ‘Come and see.'” – John 1:45-46

I made the journey down the Jordan
to hear the Baptist’s words, not Philip’s dreams.
Admittedly, if John had said he was
Messiah, I’d have turned my head.
But no. He told us he was just an echo
of Isaiah, straightening the roads.

Oh, Philip, my old friend. How many figments you
would follow! I am not so credulous.
Messiah? Here? Unlikely, don’t you think?
He’d either be upon the road, an army at
his heels, or hidden in a cave as David did.
Messiahs do not listen to a Baptist.

And he’s from where? From Nazareth?
Oh, Philip, you have lost your mind.
Can anything of good or right come out of there?
They’re all too ordinary, Philip, stuck
in their pursuit of daily bread.
You’ll never find Messiah in that place.

But now: you’ve told me, “Come and see.”
For friendship and for mercy, I will come.
Forgive me if the skeptic’s frown distorts my face.
I have no skill to wear deception’s mask.
Your Messianic man will know me when he sees me.
He’ll know I bring to him no thought of guile.

A poem/prayer based on John 1:43-51, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Second Sunday after the Epiphany.

The image is Nathanaël sous le figuier (Nathaniel Under the Fig Tree) by James Tissot – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.59_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195839.

Shine, Star, Obscuring Light

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

“In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.'” – Matthew 2:1-2

Shine, star, obscuring light,
summoning to you our eyes.
Shine, star, uniquely bright,
raising our gaze
from the child you herald,
sheltered from harm in the light.

Journey, O wise ones, and follow the star.
Messiah is born.
Messiah is born.
Bring with you offerings costly and sweet
proclaiming Messiah has come.

Shine, star, obscuring light,
summoning to you our eyes.
Shine, star, uniquely bright,
raising our gaze
from the child you herald,
sheltered from harm in the light.

Journey, O wise ones, but not to the city
where monarchs are found,
where monarchs are found.
The Herods both ancient and modern are vicious.
Put not your trust in their words.

Shine, star, obscuring light,
summoning to you our eyes.
Shine, star, uniquely bright,
raising our gaze
from the child you herald,
sheltered from harm in the light.

Journey, O wise ones, away from the city.
The child is not there.
The child is not there.
Journey, O wise ones, and do not return
to beard a vicious king in their lair.

Shine, star, obscuring light,
summoning to you our eyes.
Shine, star, uniquely bright,
raising our gaze
from the child you herald,
sheltered from harm in the light.

Journey, O wise ones, rejoice you have seen
Messiah is born,
Messiah is born.
Journey, O wise ones, attentive to dreams
that a bright day will come for us all.

Shine, star, obscuring light,
summoning to you our eyes.
Shine, star, uniquely bright,
raising our gaze
from the child you herald,
sheltered from harm in the light.

Before Maren Tirabassi asks, yes: these have become the lyrics for a song. I think I can perform/record it next week.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 2:1-12, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Epiphany.

The image is the Magi and the Star by unknown artist, found in Eliza Codex 24, an Ethiopian Biblical manuscript (date uncertain) – Hill Museum & Manuscript Library, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3106202.

What Do Angels Know?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

“And he came to her and said, ‘Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.’ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.” – Luke 1:28-29

I almost wish I’d punched him in the nose.
What do angels know, anyway?

“Greetings, favored one!” he said.
I wish I’d told him, “Do not do me favors.
I’m up to here with ‘Just a little task,”
from parents and with posies from that man.

“Don’t do me any favors, angel!
I’m up to here with favors done,
and favors asked, and too few favors given.
Leave me to the chores I have already.”

“Perplexed,” Luke called it. There’s another man
who asked the favor of my memories,
and dressed them up in pink chiffon,
made me sweet as pie.

At least he didn’t blanche the tan
upon my face and rouge my cheeks
and paint a simpering smile on my lips.
No, centuries of artists, they did that.

I almost wish I’d punched him in the nose.
What do angels know?

What do angels know of explanations
to my mother, to my father,
to my oh-so-righteous fiancée?
Only one – my cousin – didn’t ask for words.

What do angels know of smirking gazes,
harsh denunciations, pity hidden
from those oh-so-righteous ones
and hardly even shared with me?

I wish I’d been like Moses, “No! Not I!”
Except it didn’t work for him at all.
And Jonah, I could follow him, through fish and all,
to sit unshaded bitter in God’s favor.

What do angels know?

Well. What do angels know?
They know who will say, “Yes.”
They know who will embrace the need,
and tolerate the scorn, and do the thing.

They know who will endure
the travels and travails, and sing
of mournful seven joys, will break their hearts.
That’s what angels know.

I really wish I’d punched him in the nose.
He knew I wouldn’t.

That’s what angels know.

Luke’s description of Mary during the Annunciation reveals very little emotion. The Greek word translated here as “perplexed” also means “upset.” Unlike my depiction here, Luke’s Mary appears composed, forthright, mindful, and faithful. This is in stark contrast with nearly every other story of a prophet’s call, and if only in the Magnificat, Mary played a prophet’s role. Thus my imaginative retelling here.

I don’t really think Mary would have punched Gabriel in the nose.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 1:26-38, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Fourth Sunday of Advent.

The image is Annunciation 1912 by Maurice Denis (1912) – Originally from en.wikipedia; description page is/was here., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1880715.

Echo the Prophets

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

“He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” – Luke 1:52-53

Echo the prophets, Miriam.
Echo the prophets from Hannah
to Miriam, Samuel to Moses,
Deborah to Jael, Elijah to Elisha.
Echo the prophets, Miriam,
so this prophet’s mother will dance.

Echo the prophets, Miriam.
Echo the call for justice and right.
Echo inversion so those who are “great”
may tumble from comfort.
Echo the prophets, Miriam,
so the ones at the bottom will rise.

Echo the prophets, Miriam,
for the Word is at work within you.
You have been greeted with voices of angels.
You, you alone, know who is to come.
Echo the prophets, Miriam,
so your child will hear you and learn.

Echo the prophets, Miriam.
If the blessings of God seem slow
in their coming, attended with pain
and discomfort for you,
Echo the prophets, Miriam.
Let your voice rise in glorious hope.

Author’s note: The Hebrew name “Miriam” was rendered “Mariam” in the Greek language of the New Testament. Later English translations transformed “Mariam” to “Mary,” while leaving the Old Testament “Miriam” unchanged. I’ve chosen to use the original to emphasize Miriam/Mary’s connection to the ancient prophet Miriam.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 1:46b-55, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Third Sunday of Advent.

The image is Maria bei Elisabeth (Mary and Elisabeth), 19th century, by Werkstatt Sebastian Winterhalder, Rötenbach, Schwarzwald – Dr. Fischer Kunstauktionen, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17821498.

Turn Around

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” – Mark 1:1

“John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” – Mark 1:4

My life needs refreshing – turn around.
My body is aching – turn around.
My soul needs renewing – turn around.
My sad eyes are streaming – turn around.

Turn us around, John, turn us around.
Turn us and spin us to cleanse us today.
Turn us around, John, turn us around.
We’re desperate for living anew.

He came to the shore – turn around.
To be baptized by John – turn around.
The first to be bathed in the Spirit of God
Was Jesus himself – turn around.

Turn us around, John, turn us around.
We look for what’s greater than we – turn around.
Turn us around, John, turn us around.
Equip us for living anew.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 1:1-8, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Second Sunday of Advent.

The image is John the Baptist in the Wilderness, artist unknown but in the manner of Jusepe de Ribera – Royal Collection, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=92145938. The smile on the Baptist’s face suggests, to me at least, that he knows something about me and it amuses him.

Clouds

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

“But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory.” – Mark 13:24-26

Outside my window, Jesus,
I see clouds (and sun; no moon).
The clouds will bring us rain
in fifteen minutes, thereabouts.

They will not bring the end of history.

Heaven and earth remain with us.
So do your words, of course.
Some stoke the watching fires,
peering into day and night.

They have not seen the end of history.

Perhaps we have it wrong.
Perhaps rain’s immanence
is not the story of the clouds,
nor do they promise Christ’s return.

They do not bring the end of history.

But just perhaps, if I look close,
in leaden billows or in silver froth,
I’ll see in them a mirror image
of their blessed Creator.

They need not bear the end of history.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 13:24-37, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, First Sunday of Advent.

Photo by Eric Anderson.

Fuel

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

“Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps.” – Matthew 25:2-4

Be ready, you told us, Jesus,
over and over. Watch the fig trees.
Watch for floods. One will go,
one will be left. Do your work.
Fuel your lamps. Invest your talents.
Care for the sick, imprisoned, and needy.

Over and over: “Be ready.”

Be ready to shine. Be ready to care.
Be ready to share. Be ready to welcome.
Be ready to celebrate. Be ready to help.
Be ready. Be ready. Be ready.

But.

Jesus, for how long?

If the groom had been on time,
ten glowing lamps would have
illuminated him along the way.

Not five.

How long? How much extra fuel
will keep my lamp alight to welcome you?
How much investment of my talents?
How many welcomed, visited, assisted?

How long, belated bridegroom Christ?
How long?

Just so you know I know: the only source
to feed the lamp of human light, the only
place to fill the soul is you, O God.
Is you.

If I am to endure to shine before you,
fill my lamp, O God, my flasks and barrels.
Only with your aid will my light shine
today, tomorrow, and in days to come.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 25:1-13, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Proper 27 (33).

Photo by Eric Anderson. I know it’s of a tealight candle, not an oil lamp, but I like this picture.

Fringes

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

“[Jesus said,] ‘They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long.'” – Matthew 23:5

Some of my stoles have fringes.
Some do not.

I can’t say that the fringes
influence my choice of stole
for Sunday worship.

“Does the color match the season,
or the day (or can I tell myself
it matches) Sunday morn?”

And though I’ve heard
from colleagues once or twice,
“Why wear a stole to worship
in these islands?”
still I move the hangers
on the valet rod each week
to place upon my neck
the cloth cascade of color,
which may, or may not, terminate in fringe.

I take the best seat in the room.
I’m greeted by my title in the shops.
I stand where you can see me
in the sanctuary or on screen.

And pray – so deeply pray –
not to be worthy of the call
(who could be, and who ever was?)
but to be modest in the call
and stand aside so that a greater light
may shine, illuminating greater things

than me.

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 23:1-12, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Proper 26 (31).

Photo by Eric Anderson.