Praying Ecclesiastes 3

Holy Sophia, Wisdom of God teaches

there is a time for everything

and all things belong in their given time.

What time is now?

May we receive time as a gift of grace

both beginnings and ends.

May we give thanks for birth, new life, awakenings –

and give thanks when the time for dying comes –

letting go when it’s time to let go and let it be.

May we recognize the right time for growing new seeds

when to nurture and sustain what is and tend to strengthening roots

and may we recognize when it is time to weed out

to prune or pull up and discard or compost –

when to gather in and hold close and tight

and when to distribute, share, or freely give.

May we be sensitive to joining

in joyful celebration with laughter, song, and dance

and when to simply be still-fully present

in times of sorrow and tears participating

in the lament of loss and grief.

May we know the right time

to stand and shout and lend our voices

to work for peace and justice and

know when it is best and more powerful to be silent –

when our refusal to participate

is right rebellion.

May we see the opportune moments to make peace

and reconciliation our aim –

times when love and forgiveness,

when a gentle touch can bring great healing.

May we recognize those occasions

when our own animosities, guilt, hurt, and fears

are present within us

and embrace ways to act with honesty to our truest self.

As seasons and days and moments come and go,

as day gives way to night and

darkness submits to the dawn,

may Wisdom accompany us, enabling us

to receive each moment of each day as

sacred gift.

May we be found to be grateful and gracious

recipients of time’s gifts.

Amen

Thought and Prayer for International Women's Day

March,  2012

On International Women's Day today, I am thinking of women everywhere.

I give thanks for all the women who have loved and nurtured and shaped us.

I give thanks and hold in prayer the amazing women in my life,

the courage of those who went before me into risky daily rebellions, as Jane Dickie says.

to create a way for greater well-being for all;

those who used their voices, their hands,

their silent acts of resistance, who risked life for life.

I give thanks for my sister, mother, 
and daughters,

for grandmothers and aunts, 

youth leaders, camp counselors, colleagues,

wise women mentors, dear friends, gifted authors who have

nudged, pushed, loved, and challenged me.

I pray for  those women whose faces I see

in my World Council of Churches photo,

women whose names I no longer remember - 

women from Indonesia, India, Sweden, Turkey,

Brazil, Mexico, Canada, Ireland, Korea,

China, Kenya.... theologians in their own lands

and for their various  churches

whose prayers for hope and transformation are the same

as mine though the cadence sounds unfamiliar to me.

These international women of faith

are changing the world.

I think of those high schoolers in youth group photos

wondering and wandering, near by and far away

with whom I've been gifted to share a bit of the journey together.

I pray for life's path to become clear.

I am thinking of those women whose faces I can only imagine;

in joy and in pain, leaders among women and men,

and those who are abused by both women and men,

those women of others faiths and practices

who seek the Spirit of Life,

those of fame and fortune and

those just scraping by,

those who have come to believe that the only way

to choose life is to sell themselves or their children

to further abuse,

those who like Rachael are weeping for her

children that are not.

In prayer I celebrate you,

the sisterhood of all women,

and pray for continued courage for all to live deeply

into grace and peace

so all may live.

He said she was eloquent

(conversation with Kent regarding Marilyn an address to church folk)

He said she was eloquent

in her speech.

He said she spoke

of would-be gatekeepers,

the ones who keep out

rather than the ones

who admit entry.

He said she reminded

her listeners of all

those good and faith-filled

followers of Jesus

and those pious law keepers

of the religious institution

who intended to send away

and bar entry for

bothersome children

adulterous women and

those of ill-repute

homeless schizophrenics

hungry masses

poor and dirty

spirited madmen shouting recognition

persistent blind beggars and

those others outside the fold

looking for scraps under the table.

Each time the gate-keepers

would attempt to deny entry

there was Jesus, she said,

opening the door.

Let them come

I do not condemn

Let’s feed them all

For such is the kingdom.

castle in Dublin

Is that what he meant

when he said he was

the gate, the door

and all who came

to knock

would find entry?

Is that what old St Benedict

understood when he instructed

the monastery doorkeeper

to tend the door with anticipation

to open the door

and receive all as Christ?

And Mother Teresa,

she knew that opening

the door  

to create room for all

who others left outside

untouched and unloved

was to welcome in Jesus

for they all were Christ

to her.

He said she was reminding

those with ears to hear

that if we dare to be

gatekeepers of the God’s home

we might best serve as

ones who open the gate

to be like Jesus, the open door.

Come home, come home,

the door is open wide.

Come home, come home,

and live with me, inside.*

* “Come Home” (The Father’s Invitation)

Lyrics and melody by Miriam Kline Overholt

Meditations on a feather

It’s still there

this morning as I sit

here in this rocker

wrapped in my prayer shawl.

I noticed it yesterday

but it may have been there

before then.

The wind had been calm.

Only the slightest breath

of air caused it to stir

to draw my attention.

Now the breeze has picked up

and yet it clings,

wedged tight, somehow secured

in the lacy tips of the

the Japanese maple.

It looks like it might be

an inner downy feather

from a Blue Jay,

the subtle barring

and size gives it away,

but how did it get there?

The branch is far too delicate

to bear the weight of that bird.

It must have arrived on the wind

to find temporary lodging there.

For how long? I wonder.

When will the wind be strong

enough to tug it free?

And where will it fly?

Will it become nesting material?

In this odd warm winter

did the Jay begin to molt?

Is it missing that

inner warmth?

Was it in a squabble and lost

feathers in the fight?

What happens to all the

feathers, downy ones or ones for flight,

of all the birds that flit

past my window?

Once in while there may be

a random wing or tail feather

to collect.  Less so in hiking

I spot the feathery remains

of a not so fortunate end

caught prey of another.

Is that how all birds

come to an end?

Why don’t I see more feathers

adhering to tree branches

or scattered on the ground?

Where do all the birds go at life’s end?

What happens to their feathers?

skin and bones?

Is there weeping for a day?

Loss among the flock?

Are they anxious about

feather loss?

or my empty feeder?

or what will come tomorrow?

or where they’ll sleep tonight?

Considering the birds

of the air…

(a day later… I saw another downy

feather caught on the bare branches

of a Pine.  Perhaps we see what we

look for.)

Discernment

Way closes

so it seems.

Way lies

hidden away.

Bent in submission to winter’s weight

saplings bow

interlaced

shrouded in white

wet and frozen        

bent - not broken

reconfiguring what lies ahead.

Remnant leaves of bygone glory

brittle and brown

cling tight

obscuring vision

block clear way.

Limited sight

blinding sun on crystal prisms

gray clouds interspersed

flake filled winds

forming unfamiliar shapes and shadows

in frozen glory.

Which way?

I thought I knew.

I think I know,

but all is askew.

Give up the way forward?

turn around

retrace steps to familiar ground

to safety?

Or risk the adventure

trusting former ventures

trusting peace in the unknown

finding way one step ‘round

at a time
until hidden way comes clear?

Polar People

Polar people-

ends of spectrum

north south

summer winter

truth in black or white

good guys bad guys

Democrat Republican

wealthy impoverished

glass half full half empty

in out right wrong

total depravity infinite grace-

seeking an equator

a fulcrum to guard and

hold together

extremes

making

space for both and.

Come, Holy Equator,

help us find balance.