[Jesus said,] “For those who want to save their life will lose it…” – Mark 8:35

Well. That’s just true.

It’s simply true that life will close for one and all
no matter how we seek to manage and extend it.
No human being lives their life on Earth and fails
to die: including Jesus, as You well recall.

So that’s just true.

I grant you that by effort, luck, and with
a spot of selfishness and pride, a person might
extend their life or live in comfortable bliss,
but You require every person’s soul of them in time.

So that’s just true.

In truth, I struggle more to see how offering myself,
how giving effort, time, or wealth,
how giving life itself,
will lead to life.

You say that’s true.

And so I move upon a cracked and twisting path,
one day embracing vanity,
the next one striving for beneficence,
as if the map were constantly redrawn.

You know that’s true.

O, reassure my heart, my Savior,
that I might in constancy adopt Your course,
not bribed by promise of new life,
but tranquil and serene in hope.

May this be true.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 8:31-38, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Second Sunday in Lent.

God said, “This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth.” – Genesis 9:12-13

I’m grateful for the promise, Holy One,
to never raise a flood to sweep all life from Earth.

I cannot quite forget, however,
that you did not say we could not do this thing ourselves.

As tides rise higher around my island,
testimony to the human hubris that grieves you,

I am grateful for the sign
that you, at least, keep faith.

A poem/prayer based on Genesis 9:8-17, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year B, First Sunday in Lent. And, er, it’s written late.

Photo by Eric Anderson.

And the whole city was gathered around the door. – Mark 1:33

The city is outside my door, Jesus,
but they are not calling to come in.

They have not come en masse to seek a healer
or a prophet who could liberate their souls.

Oh, one or two, perhaps. From time to time.
If they found solace, they have kept the secret well.

There is enough, in truth, to drive a lesser one
like me to seek the solitude you sought

When morning had not wakened those
whose needs had not been satisfied.

I’m not sure how I’d handle all those people
seeking what I know to be beyond my power

And so confess with sadness that I’m glad
I lack the power, and the crowds stay home.

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 Healing Peter’s Mother-in-law, from a 13th century manuscript from the Athos monasteries by an unknown author – http://shop.liturgie.de/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5187185.

“Nathanael asked him, ‘Where did you get to know me?’ Jesus answered, ‘I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.'” – John 1:48

It was long ago, my Savior, that you called me
out from under my fig tree.
Neither then nor now do I pretend to understand
just what you saw.

I strive, Redeemer, to become a person without guile –
sometimes successfully.
I’ve found your awkward knowing words and silences
correct me more than praise.

Still, knowing what you know, you sent the call
to summon me from shelter, and
I came to come and see, and seeing, echoed those old words:
You are the Son of God.

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 Bartholomew the Apostle by El Greco – lAHToi0sj3MVQw at Google Cultural Institute, zoom level maximum, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=29844192. Nathanael, named only in John’s Gospel, has traditionally been identified with Bartholomew, one of the Twelve in Matthew, Mark, and Luke.

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

I am more accustomed to proclaiming
a baptism of forgiveness, Jesus, a baptism
of the Holy Spirit, a baptism of renewal.

I am more accustomed to confining
the language of repentance to my own
inadequacies, imperfections.

But as the pictures flicker on the screens,
and as the lies continue multiplying, then
I know I must repent a frightened silence, and

I summon up the words of John. Repent, you brood
of vipers, shed delusion, accept truth, and turn
from violent desecration of the nation

that you claim to love.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 1:4-11, the Revised Common Lectionary Alternate Psalm Reading for Year B, First Sunday after the Epiphany, the Baptism of Christ.

The image is Preaching of John the Baptist by Rembrandt – Gemäldegalerie, Berlin, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=41608726.

“Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” – Isaiah 40:3b

I hear the summons, Holy One, to lay aside
the poetry, the words and tunes, the voice,
and take up skills (I do not have) to build
a road, a path, a highway for your Way.

In my imagination, that highway would stream
across the plains into the setting sun
and I would squinting peer ahead
into the spreading light of glory.

My engineering skills, however, are more apt
to build a road that rolls and twists,
that dives precipitously down the hillsides, cracks
with perturbations of the Earth.

I am the grass, the flower of the field,
and with them I will grow and bloom,
then fall and fade. I cannot build a road
to match the word of God that stands forever.

A poem/prayer based on Isaiah 40;1-11, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year B, Second Sunday of Advent.

Photos by Eric Anderson.