Tenacious

Thursday in Easter Week

Hallelujah! Praise the Lord, O my soul!
I will praise the Lord as long as I live;
I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.
Psalm 146:1

“What is at the top of your gratitude list?” my friend posts on social media. I sift through the past day and all my encounters. Phone calls, emails, zoom meetings. Facebook comments and replies. Text messages. Face time. All the ways communities persist in reaching out and gathering in. Each day calls for new abilities and offers outlets for creativity. And requires reconstructed responses for the aching need of so many.

And somewhere in the open space between need and purpose, grace keeps a tenacious hold. On this side of Easter, I grasp for joy as the women outside the empty tomb grasped the feet of the risen Christ.

At the top of my list today—my encounters with the enduring capacity to see and respond to goodness. Which can be nothing other than a sacred gift from the author of life.



Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay

Undaunted

Easter Day

Let everything that has breath
praise the Lord.
Hallelujah!
Psalm 150:6

Earth shattering
the removal of the stone
to expose the empty tomb
emptied of sorrow
emptied of hate
emptied of death

emptied of that which it could not contain
joy which persists undaunted
life that cannot be quenched
love that fills every breath of creation
and calls to us, “Greetings!”

Alleluia, Christ is risen!

Morning

Holy Saturday

You speak in my heart and say, “Seek my face.”
You face, Lord, will I seek.
Psalm 27:11

morning comes for the broken hearted
for the hopeful
for the grief-laden

morning comes for the trepidatious
the stretched thin
the determined

morning comes for the expectant
the heroic
the vulnerable

morning comes
to usher them
a step closer
to the face of love





Image by Raheel Shakeel from Pixabay

The brink

Good Friday

Our forebears put their trust in you
they trusted, and you delivered them.
Psalm 22:4

the cry in the garden

the howl in the night

the voice of denial

windswept

the fierce landscape awaits

the gift of love

Image by 3321704 from Pixabay

Accompanied

Maundy Thursday

Teach me to do what pleases you, for you are my God;
let your good Spirit lead me on level ground.
Psalm 143:10

feet worn and weary

hardened from travel
through uncharted territory
with yet weight to bear

lifted into gentle hands
enfolded by compassion
cleansed of dust and heaviness

and set once again
on the path that saves
accompanied

Image by JLB1988 from Pixabay

Persistent

Wednesday in Holy Week

I am shaken by the noise of the enemy
and by the pressure of the wicked
Psalm 55:3

The wilderness is not empty
of threats
or of life

as salvation draws near
the enemy deploys a din, an uproar
anything to drown out
to cut off persistent hope

as if love could be overcome
by a taunt

Image by Michael Pollack from Pixabay

Compassion

Tuesday in Holy Week

Depart from me, all evildoers,
for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping.
Psalm 6:8

it is no small thing
to give in
to give over

to give myself over
to the one who saves

the clamor of those who would distract me from the way
is silenced by the compassion
of the one who walks before me

the one who walks in sorrow
in order to meet me even there

the one who is
where true love is found

Deeper in

Monday in Holy Week

Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.
Psalm 51:11

Once again the path
makes a familiar turn
this pilgrimage will lead me deeper in before I am through

I take my weary heart into my hands
and set it on the path before me
an offering and a plea

“What do you seek?”
asks the keeper of this path

I seek renewal

“Follow me, I am the Way….”

Image by Lorraine Cormier from Pixabay

Gathered breath

Saturday in the Fifth Week of Lent

How shall we sing the Lord’s song
upon an alien soil?
Psalm 137:4

Outside all is grey and quiet. No traffic or hustle. Even my usual squirrel companion, who most mornings is busily visible outside my window, is absent. The landscape seems almost alien. As if the world is holding its breath.

Most years, somewhere along the way, I also find the Lenten landscape to be alien. This year the journey has taken so many twists and turns that I am often at a loss how to describe where I am. And now the way is about to spiral again, as we intentionally enter into the sacred space of loss. How can we sing the Lord’s song in this time?

There is a song to sing. More than one. A song of lament. A song of hope. A song of longing. And, yes, a song of joy. We hold our breath in preparation. We gather within us the spiritual gifts that God has given us in order to be able to sing love into the world.



 Image by Constanze Riechert-Kurtze from Pixabay

Resonance

Friday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Let me hear of your loving-kindness in the morning,
for I put my trust in you;
show me the road that I must walk,
for I lift up my soul to you.
Psalm 143:8

I wake to the sound of the wind chimes and let the lovely resonance become my focus. It is not really a melody that they play, but rather harmonious tones cast into the air, brought into being by strong gusts and gentle breezes and an artist’s craft. They accompany my morning routine and my prayer, and I know they will be with me throughout the day, a gracious song in the background of my doing and being.

And running in the background too is the sweetest song of all, the song of creation, of the light which God spoke into being, and the Word which was there at that speaking and continually voices redemption and will always call me by name.

As the richness of the chimes floats across the sunrise, my soul is lifted. This holy loving-kindness illumines my way now.

God-with-us

Thursday in the Fifth Week of Lent

O Lord, I am not proud;
I have no haughty looks.
I do not occupy myself with great matters,
or with things that are too hard for me.
But I still my soul and make it quiet,
like a child upon its mother’s breast;
my soul is quieted within me.
Psalm 131:1-3

In this geography, it seems even simple things are complicated. And with each new challenge come new obstacles. The enemy who lurks alongside me in this desert tempts me with my own abilities. I can do this. And this. And this.

But the truth is I cannot. It is pride that leads me into a culvert where I am in trouble and alone. All of this is too hard for me; it is too hard for any of us. And it is impossibly hard if I go it alone.

“Why are you trying to do that on your own,” my friend gently chides me, “you could have called me.” And she is right. My call first and foremost is to walk with God. With. And when I remember this, I am able to see who else is with me. A young girl who sent a homemade card of encouragement. A friend who texts me unprompted with a solution to a problem I had been carrying. A colleague who offers expertise. And always Emmanuel, God-with-us, holy infant, vulnerable and nevertheless the savior of the world.

Indelible love

Wednesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Let my cry come before you, O Lord;
give me understanding, according to your word.
Psalm 119:169

Everything takes longer. And I continue to be surprised by this, as if I could somehow get this situation under control, as if the landscape wasn’t changing on a daily basis. I hear the same thing from friends and colleagues, in which I find comfort. It is not just me.

And then I am called up short. Of course it is not just me. And I am reminded again that I am not in this alone. I am surrounded by more than one community that is casting hope along the way. I am connected to people who are creating art, sewing masks, weaving prayers, inventing new ways to distribute sustenance of all kinds.

And then there is the truth that I belong to the Author of hope.

I become still, and open my heart, and become aware of God continuing to write upon it in indelible words of love.