Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice, because the abundance of the sea shall be brought to you, the wealth of the nations shall come to you. – Isaiah 60:5
Teach me to recognize radiance, O God. Teach me to revel in brightness of spirit. Teach me to raise up my voice in rejoicing for radiance seen with the soul, not the eyes.
Teach me to recognize radiance, O God. Teach me to gain it in greatness of heart. Teach me to glorify generous spirit, the radiance seen with the soul, not the eyes.
Teach me to recognize radiance, O God. Teach me to mirror a magus of old. Teach me to make free of marrow and mind, and the radiance seen with the soul, not the eyes.
A poem/prayer based on Isaiah 60:1-6, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Epiphany.
“Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit.” – Matthew 1:18
What should I, could I say? His mind had closed. His ears had stopped. No words I’d say would sway him. What could I, should I say?
I tried; you know I tried. I knew the difficulty of belief, e’en with the confirmation of by body – What could I, should I say?
He stomped away. I knew that, unbelieved, I’d be abandoned – quietly but sure. What could I, should I say?
The very morrow he returned much chastened by a dream. It’s nice to be believed, I said. What could I, should I say?
But Joseph, damn your faith in dreams of angels, but refusal to believe the one who loves you. What could I, should I say?
And Matthew, you whose pen could not record a single word of mine, I wish you’d learned from Luke. What could I, should I say?
So silenced, I rely upon the child I bore to speak the words I spoke to him, and which he magnified. What could I, should I say?
He spoke of liberation and he spoke of resurrection and he spoke of God’s triumphant day. So can I, must I say.
Author’s note: Matthew did not quote Joseph in his Gospel, either – but Joseph takes all the initiative and makes all the decisions which carry the Holy Family from Bethlehem to Egypt to Nazareth.
A poem/prayer based on Matthew 1:18-25, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Fourth Sunday of Advent.
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” – Matthew 11:2-3
The clarity that comes with voices in the clouds soon fades. The vibrant colors of the golden sun, the azure river, and the argent billows in the air transmute to foggy grey as time saps confidence. So ask the question, John, as well you may: “Are you the One? Or must we wait to see One you proclaim as I once proclaimed you?”
With you I bend my ear to the reply: Look well, stern messenger of God. The ones who could not see now see. The ones who could not hear now hear. The ones who, ill, had lost community and home have been restored. The poor are cheered to hear good news proclaimed.
And so we see, and so we hear, dear John the Baptist (caught in Herod’s snares), that one has come to claim anointing by the One, and not to seize a throne, or start a war, or set himself apart from us. He’s come to heal. He’s come to preach. He’s come to bring us freedom from the cradle to beyond the grave – a life for you, dear John, and me.
A poem/prayer based on Matthew 11:2-11, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Third Sunday of Advent.
“…they were baptized by [John] in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.” – Matthew 3:6
Ah, baptist at the riverbank, I come to seek the power of the cleansing touch of water and of Spirit and of fire. Anneal my harrowed soul. Your words have burned their way into my heart and mind and I do not forget. Who warned me, John? Well, you. You with your party-breaking summons to the realization – hardly new but strong in its familiarity – that I have not kept steadily the prophet’s road, which is not straight, not even close, but winds through thickets and through thorns like serpent’s teeth.
I wanted, baptist, to step quietly into the muddy waters, duck my head in quick and studied piety, then stand and melt into my ordinary life once more as surely as the water dried upon my skin. The water I might thus ignore, but not your harshly calling voice. I shiver and I listen and I plan: to learn and follow, learn and follow, learn and follow Christ more faithfully today.
A poem/prayer based on Matthew 3:1-12, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Second Sunday of Advent.
When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, [Jesus] said, ‘As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.'” – Luke 21:5-6
The flagstones and terraces, walls and pillars, the walkways and courtyards, collonades and shrines. Oh, look where the peak of the roof glows at sunset! Oh, look how the glory of God has been housed.
The stones seem so durable, set and enduring, but Jesus in sadness announces their fall. Eternity’s structures are not built with masonry. Instead, they are built on the soul.
It has been many days since I stood by the ocean and watched while this island expanded its shores. Incarnadine tendrils, dulling to sable, forming a delta of newly poured stone.
And that delta has vanished. It broke and it crumbled. The rocks of the ages could be counted in days. Since then new eruptions have fashioned the coastline anew and anew and anew.
Stone poured upon stone, broken to sand. Stone stacked upon stone – by human hands. They come and they go, they bloom and they fade – But oh, what glory that these things should be.
Fragile stones, enduring for centuries, collapsing in days, wrecked by malice, swept away by the sea. Fragile stones that stand for a moment: But oh, what glory that these things should be.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 21:5-19, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 28 (33).
Photo of the 2016 ocean entry in Kamokuna by Eric Anderson.
[The Sadducees asked,] “Now there were seven brothers; the first married, and died childless; then the second and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. Finally the woman also died. In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be? For the seven had married her.” – Luke 20:29-33
Tell us another story, Jesus.
Tell us a story in which a woman is valued for what she brings and makes, and not because she bears a child to be the heir to one whom death has claimed.
Tell us a story in which a woman is treasured and housed and clothed and nourished because she is a child of God, and not because she is a womb for children.
Tell us a story in which a woman determines her home, her work, her speech, her course, and does not submit her careful conclusions to the random will of a man.
Tell us a story in which those thrust to the margins in casual cruelty rise strong in themselves, and claim their due place as wealth and privilege wane.
Tell us a story of resurrection, of life beyond these oppressing tears, of dancing angels, of children of God, of all who live and love in God’s sight.
Tell us another story, Jesus.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 20:27-38, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 27 (32).
“Therefore we ourselves boast of you among the churches of God for your steadfastness and faith during all your persecutions and the afflictions that you are enduring.” – 2 Thessalonians 1:4
Let me boast of the teacher whose time in the classroom was short, but whose time to inspire was longer and glorious and still… all too short.
Let me boast of the caretaker, rarely at worship because of her charge, but shining with spirit in every encounter, aglow with affection so clear in my memory.
Let me boast of the less-known, forgotten, ignored, whose passage of Earth left its light, instead of the powerful, wretched indeed, to leave us so broken in sorrow.
Let me boast of the saints.
A poem/prayer based on 2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12, the Revised Common Lectionary Second Reading for Year C, Proper 26 (31).
[Jesus] also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt… – Luke 18:9
Truly you see that he is contemptible. Imagine a collaborator, a Quisling, a snake who slithers his way to take chicks from the nest. Such is this man, who is rich from his friends – if he has any, now, since he fronts for the Romans and seizes their substance for them and himself.
I thank you, Creator, that I have not fallen to such mean temptation or villainous deed. You’ll find that my substance is shared with my household. You’ll find that my giving to you is correct. You’ll find I am faithful in all of my doings. To you I give praise for your law and design.
Now listen, O Great One, as he struggles to pray. My studies have given me words fit for angels, to proclaim your glory as if my voice echoed the song of the heavens and heaven’s chorale. And he prays for mercy? Sure, mercy he covets, but we know his plea is yet more of his greed.
Truly you see that he is contemptible, in life and profession, in false piety. Let not his petition leave grit in your ears, but hear my thanksgiving and praise to your name. You, and you only, can judge your Creation. You, and you only, can say what contemptible is.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 18:9-14, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 25 (30).
“The sun rose upon [Jacob/Israel] as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.” – Genesis 32:31
I had you, God. You know it. I know it. You saw you weren’t prevailing. You know it. I know it. And then you pulled a dirty trick! You know it. I know it. You pulled my hip right out of joint. You know it. I know it. It didn’t matter; I held on to you and held. You know it. I know it. You did not want the daylight to reveal you. You know it. I know it. And so you called for me to let you go before the dawn. You know it. I know it. “Oh, no,” I said. “You have to bless me first.” You know it. I know it. You did; you gave me a new name. You know it. I know it. A name about the struggle. You know it. I know it. And now I limp. You know it. I know it. But I won.
A poem/prayer based on Genesis 32:22-31, the Revised Common Lectionary Alternate First Reading for Year C, Proper 24 (29).
“Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman’s wife. She said to her mistress, ‘If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.'” – 2 Kings 5:2-3
“…his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.” – 2 Kings 5:14
The first of the miracles was a girl enslaved, who’d been torn from her home and forced to serve. She was not embittered. She retained compassion. She directed her “lord” to a prophet with power.
The general went to the king, and the king went and wrote to a king, who in fury and fear rent his clothes. By a miracle word reached the prophet, who said, “Send the general here to be well.”
With chariots and horses and servants he came, but only a messenger stood at the gate, for the prophet, miraculously still unimpressed remained in the house; directives he sent.
Now the general cursed and would fly down the road, back to his home with his malady still. “He told me to wash!” he denounced the directives, and he would have rejected the miracles, save…
That his servants (among them, assuredly, slaves) miraculously summoned their courage and said, “It’s too simple for you? You can do what is hard. Do the simple thing. See if it works.”
By a miracle the pride of the general faded. He listened to those whom the culture despised. He’d followed advice of a girl and a slave, now the wisdom of slaves took him to Jordan’s side.
In the washing, the general found his skin cleansed. A miracle true, a healing assured, his status restored. A miracle once more: He sought out the prophet. He raised up his thanks and he praised Israel’s God.
A series of miracles, built upon miracles, a general who thanked, a general who listened to slaves who cared and a prophet who ordered – But the first of the miracles was a girl enslaved.
A poem/prayer based on 2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, Proper 23 (28).
ordainedgeek 