lectionprayer

Aren’t You?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 4 Comments

“[Jesus said,] Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory.” – Luke 21:27

I’m looking, Jesus.
I’m looking for those terrible disasters.
I’m looking for the sun-signs, moon-signs, star-signs.
Where is the earth distressed?
Where are the nations fuddled by the roaring of the seas?

I’m looking, Jesus,
and I’m finding all those terrible disasters.
The sun burns warmer on the sands than once it did.
Distressed, the earth would wrap itself in coolness,
water rising, inundating coastlines of both continents and islands.

I’m looking, Jesus:
where to find you?
The clouds still float along without your figure
stepping down to earth in glory and in power.
Where are you, Jesus, when the seas are salt with tears?

I’m looking, Jesus,
as disciples have been looking
for two thousand years, to see the reign of God
in light and thunderclaps and incense-scented wonder, but…
You’re just behind my shoulder, aren’t you?

A poem/prayer based on Luke 21:25-36, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year C, First Sunday of Advent.

The image is Christ Appears to Two Apostles in Emmaus by Duccio di Buoninsegna – The Yorck Project (2002) 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei (DVD-ROM), distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH. ISBN: 3936122202., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3799693.

Paragon

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

The God of Israel has spoken;
the Rock of Israel has said to me:
“One who rules over people justly,
ruling in the fear of God,
is like the light of morning,
like the sun rising on a cloudless morning,
gleaming from the rain on the grassy land.”
Is not my house like this with God?

– 2 Samuel 23:3-5

My eyes no longer see as far as they once did.
My hands are creaky, laid upon the strings.
My knees and elbows crack, and truth to tell,
I’d rather spend the day in memory than rule.

The time will surely shortly come when I
shall make my bed in Sheol rather than
within this palace of my grandeur. No more
shall Abijag console me with her warmth.

But then, no longer must I listen to
the not-so-welcome words of Nathan. There
are benefits to dying. Such as making peace
with shame and guilt (if not with those I slew).

And so:

Was not my reign a paragon of right?
(Ignore the tales of rape and sons’
rebellion, though another looms e’en now.)
Did I not shine as dew reflects the morn?

Who now will contradict my words? They’ll hold
them close and celebrate how wise I was
when, near the end, I sang the truth
that earthly power, even mine, is judged by God.

How will they know that as I played
my fingers caught upon the strings, my voice
was husky with the tears that streamed, because
I knew the truth and then composed the lie.

A poem/prayer based on 2 Samuel 23:1-7, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year B, Reign of Christ.

The image is King David by Peter Paul Rubens (by 1640) – Corel Professional Photos CD-ROM, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10324682.

Hearts Sprinkled Clean… for?

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

“…Let us approach with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.” – Hebrews 10:22

There are mornings when I revel in the water
which cascades along my form and carries off
the aggravating dust and clinging grime.

In likewise do I cast my grateful soul
into refreshment of a loving God,
who takes away the grunge, the guilt, the shame.

And then I step upon the shower mat,
to towel off the residue of cleanliness,
prepare to wrap my form in clothing for the day.

In likewise does my soul release forgiveness’ bliss,
replenished to the work which lies ahead,
and clothed (we hope) in righteousness’ array:

Provoking those around to love, to acts
of doing good, to mercy shared, to meet and raise
the courage of those souls who’d do the same.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 12:38-44, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Proper 27 (32).

Photo by Eric Anderson

Her Whole Life

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments
A painting of a well-dressed African man putting gold coins in a jar while a slim African woman carrying a baby and with a basket on her head puts two small coins in the jar. Others watch.
The Widow’s Mite – Luke 21:1-4

For all gave out of their abundance, but she—out of her poverty—gave all that she was having, her whole life. – Mark 12:44, translation by D. Mark Davis.

You’d warned about them, Jesus, all those who
devour widows’ houses with religious obligation.
I wonder, did you think you’d see it happen
there in front of you, so poignant and so soon?

She dropped her life into the box or jar
and heard it ring, so tinny and so small.

I wonder that you found the words
to say to your disciples “She gave all.
She gave her life, all that remained.”
I would have been struck silent in my tears.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 12:38-44, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Proper 27 (32).

I have written two other poems on this text: “Devoured” from 2021 and “All She Gave” from 2018.

The image is from JESUS MAFA. The Widow’s Mite, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=48392 [retrieved November 5, 2024]. Original source: http://www.librairie-emmanuel.fr (contact page: https://www.librairie-emmanuel.fr/contact).

First Commandment

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments
A brightly colored painting showing two women facing forward, both showing grief, with a third holding the shoulders of one from behind, face hidden. Two other women show signs of grief at right and to the rear.

“One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well he asked him, ‘Which commandment is the first of all?’ Jesus answered, ‘The first is, “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.” The second is this, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” There is no other commandment greater than these.'” – Mark 12:28-31

The scribe approved your words, or so says Mark,
and silenced all the snare-deploying crowd.
Yet he might ask (and yes, in Luke he did)
“Who is my neighbor to receive my love?”

Then you, Redeemer, might have said
(though you did not, or so says Luke),
“Look to the Book of Ruth, to what is written there:
‘I will not leave you. Do not press me.

“‘Where you journey, I will go.
And where you stop, there I will take my rest.
Your people shall be mine, and more:
Your God shall be my God.'”

A poem/prayer based on Mark 12:28-34, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading, and Ruth 1:1-18, the First Reading, for Year B, Proper 26 (31).

The image is Whither Thou Goest: Naomi and Ruth by Rupert Bunny – http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/360/rupert-bunny-whither-thou-goest.jpg/4079790, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=56415654.

A Cloak

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments
A corner of a cloak, tan in color, with tan and black fringe along the bottom and right edges.

“Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.” – Mark 10:49-50

“How strange. Do you see that?”

“See what? Oh, that? What is that, do you know?”

“I think that it’s a cloak.”

“Who’d leave a cloak abandoned
in the road like this?”

“I wouldn’t. That’s the thing that keeps
a being warm at night.”

“Let’s take a look. Perhaps the owner is
not far, and if we raise it, they’ll come back.”

“What’s that? It rolled away into the dirt.”

“Hang on, I’ve got it now. Look: it’s a coin.
It must have been entangled in the cloak.”

“You know, I’ve seen a beggar here
with such a cloak. He’d plead for coins…”

“…Which people threw upon the cloak.
You’re right. This must be his. But where is he?”

“I can’t believe he’d leave without his cloak.”

“I can’t believe he wouldn’t comb the cloak
to find each coin.”

“He’s not here now… and if he left without
the cloak…”

“I don’t think he’ll return.”

A poem/prayer based on Mark 10:46-52, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Proper 25 (30).

The image is a portion of an 1880s Maori man’s cloak, New Zealand, twined flax and wool pom-poms. Photo by Staff photographer, Rhode Island School of Design Museum of Art – https://risdmuseum.org/art-design/collection/mans-cloak-7502667, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=118531677.

Sign Me Up

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment
The image is "The Calling of the Apostles St. James and St. John." It shows two kneeling figures at right with a Jesus figure with halo standing at left holding his hand above their heads.

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.’ And he said to them, ‘What is it you want me to do for you?’ And they said to him, ‘Appoint us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.'” – Mark 10:35-37

While you’re at it, Jesus, sign me up for that.
For while I think I have one of the sittingest jobs there is,
(I sit in chairs and cars and at so many meals),
I’d really like to sit nearby to you and bask in glory.

Ahhhhhh…

Yes, I can follow you and what you do
to find my place in glory, banquet marvelous,
and if the places to your right and left
are occupied already, I understand.

Ahhhhh…

So though I share the indignation of
your other followers, I share as well
their thought that it should not be them,
but me, to sit at your right hand. Of course.

Ahhhh…

I’ve chosen to forget as James and John
did then, so long ago, that you’d been laying out
the likely forecast, which was stormy to be sure,
a blow to carry you up on a cross.

Ahhh…

I’ve chosen to ignore again your call
to servanthood and service. Humility,
not arrogance, displays your Way. I’d be
more comfortable, frankly, with my pride.

Ahh…

Instead, I sit dismayed. You’ve asked for all,
for more than I prepared, for more
than I have understood. It’s not enough,
but in this moment, it is all I have to give.

Ah.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 10:35-45, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Proper 24 (29).

The image is “The Calling of the Apostles St. James and St. John,” print, Friedrich August Pflugfelder, after Johann Friedrich Overbeck (MET, 2004.451) (August W. Schulgen/ Josef Spithöver) – This file was donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. See the Image and Data Resources Open Access Policy, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=60859225. Sadly, most artists’ renderings I could find of this interchange between Jesus, James, and John, favor Matthew’s version of the story, in which their mother made the request on their behalf.

Camels and Needles

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 8 Comments

“But Jesus said to them again, ‘Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.'” – Mark 10:24b-25

A camel, which is a beast with sense,
will cast a jaundiced eye upon a needle’s eye
if told that they’re to pass on through.
At most, a knobby hoof may paw the ground.

Yet I engage in exercise of needle-passing
almost every day, and have for one score years,
and ten, and six, endeavoring to tell
a story so it lifts a heart or redirects a mind.

A task for fools, I say, as those I teach
nod sagely in agreement with my words,
then go to do the opposite of what I’d said,
and what they’d then approved,

Because, you know, though there’s a better way,
the one we know is still the one we’ll do.
We thank you for the wisdom of your words
and hope the world one day works as you say.

If only it were only “they,” the ones to whom
I speak! For it is also “Me,” the one I seek
to govern by your guidance, Christ, the “I”
who also cannot seem to follow you.

I would despair, save that some seeds I never thought
would bloom have grown, have blossomed, borne
sweet fruit as marginalized people claim
their place and power where they once had none.

So take my challenge, camel. I will make
my painful way through this so-tiny eye,
and once we’re through, what visions might we see,
what glory celebrate, in God’s sweet possibility.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 10:17-31, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Proper 23 (28).

The image is a Roman needle of a type found in first to fourth century contexts. All rights reserved, Philippa Walton, 2014-11-29 19:38:23 – https://finds.org.uk/database/ajax/download/id/494882Catalog: https://finds.org.uk/database/images/image/id/494882/recordtype/artefacts archive copy at the Wayback Machine Artefact: https://finds.org.uk/database/artefacts/record/id/652383, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=77020469.

This poem/prayer was written on the thirty-sixth anniversary of my ordination. I rather regret not having taken (that I can find) a photo of a camel.

Because of Your Hardness of Heart

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment
A stone in the shape of a heart.

“But Jesus said to them, ‘Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you.'” – Mark 10:5

The wreckage left by hardened hearts
includes the charioteers of Pharaoh,
swept away by churning waters of the sea.
The murmurers of Meribah, the fallen kings
of Canaan, even Babylon the proud,
lie in the rubble of their stony hearts.

How curious that there should be a law
accommodating a so-painful thing
as calcined cardia. How strange to say
this pain, this hurt, will come, and we
cannot avoid the fault lines of
a marriage. Let crevasses divide.

But Jesus called it out for what it was,
for hearts go cold to set aside the pain,
and so inflict the hurt upon the other. Then
we must admit that Moses had it right,
that weeping lovers walk away in order that
old wounds might heal, new wounds avoid.

Yet wounds they are and still remain,
inflicted in the adamant of soul,
and rising emerge as grieving tears,
while Jesus weeps for what, with open heart,
need not have been.

A poem/prayer based on Mark 10:2-16, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Proper 22 (27).

The image is by muffinn from Worcester, UK – Madeira – Ribeira Brava – heart-shaped stone, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=58001718.

Not Enough Cooks

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 7 Comments

“[Moses said,] ‘I am not able to carry all this people alone, for they are too heavy for me.’ So the LORD said to Moses, ‘Gather for me seventy of the elders of Israel…'”

They wept for food, the wandering people did.
Their palates had grown weary of the miracle,
which sounds ungrateful. I suppose it is.
But who does not grow weary of life’s wonders?

Then Moses was displeased, and not with weeping
people, but with God, whom he accused of treating him
so badly. “Why do you lay the burden of these people
upon me?” For Moses, too, had wearied of the wonder.

And God – the singular, the Trinity not yet
imagined, whose powers had rained flies
and hail and pestilence and death upon
the wailing people of the Pharaoh – said,

“You shall not lead alone. You never have.
Did you forget? We’ve been a team, we have,
with you and me and Miriam and Aaron.
The team will grow by seventy today.

“They say too many cooks will spoil broth.
Sometimes, you know, that’s true, if they
neglect to speak and listen to each other. Now
my Spirit shall be given to these elders.

“They shall prophesy, including those
who missed the memo in the camp.
And you, my harried, whiny Moses, shall
at last be glad for helpers on the road.

“As for these weeping people, now:
Let them eat quail.”

A poem/prayer based on Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29, the Revised Common Lectionary Alternative First Reading for Year B, Proper 21 (26).

The image is Moses elects the Council of Seventy Elders by Jacob de Wit (1737) – AQGtI5P6nkpYyw at Google Cultural Institute maximum zoom level, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21988106.