You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Poems’ category.
Saturday Morning, 10 AM
Justice and Peace meet at the cafe,
Sit together,
Hands folded around steaming cups,
Heads bent over the paper.
They are not taking in
The news of the world
With sorrowing eyes
And the clucking of tongues.
They are instead planning their
Itinerary,
Plotting their map,
Looking for the places where
They might slip in.
Their fingers touch, release,
Touch again as they read,
Moving with the half-aware habits
That come only with long living
Alongside.
They have met, parted,
Met again on countless mornings
Like this one, torn and taken
By turns.
They put the paper aside
They brush away the crumbs
They talk quietly
They know there is work to do.
But they order
one more cup:
there is savoring they must do
before the saving begins.
They lean in,
Barely touching across the table
For a kiss that makes a way,
A world
Rev. Jan Richardson
Advertisements
Fearing God and Ferrets
Sitting on the banks of the Minnehaha Creek with my feet in the water, escaping the city within the city, a flash of movement along the opposite bank caught my eye. A ferret was running along the bank, not five yards from me, and then dove into the water.
A ferret? Dow we have wild ferrets in Minnesota? Had my eyes deceived me? It must’ve been a muskrat, to have gone underwater like that. But I knew what I had seen. Its long skinny body and arching back were unmistakable. How far could ferrets swim underwater?
Suddenly, I felt a surge of fear. What if it resurfaced by my feet and bit me? Aren’t ferrets feisty and mean? Do they carry diseases? Perhaps it was someone’s escaped pet turned wild and would want to crawl on me. I waited in fearful excitement, holding my breath to see what it would do. And then there it was, springing out of the water with a mouthful of mud and weeds. Running off down the bank it dropped its treasure and began patting it with its little hands, building a nest or den. A feeling of awe overtook me. I realized I know nothing about ferrets and I was overwhelmed by its “otherness” and intrigued by its mysterious life.
Maybe this is what the Scriptures mean when they say to “Fear God.” I’ve never liked that phrase. Why should I fear someone who loves me, who created all this beauty, who has my best interest at heart?
Growing up in a shame-based family system and religion gave me my fair share of fear. I was afraid of my father, my pastor, and at some deep level that I never admitted until much later, I was also afraid of God. God, who was distant and detached, judgemental and punishing. As a youth, fearing God meant always being on my best behavior because “he’s gonna find out who’s naughty and nice.” The consequence for naughtiness was eternal damnation. Terrifying indeed! Over time, after healing this destructive image and understanding of God, I dropped the idea altogether because it triggered old wounds.
But sitting on the banks of the Minnehaha, watching this ferret run back and forth, I felt a Holy fear. It was excitement, awe, mystery, respect, love. So too, large animals evoke these feelings in us naturally. If you’ve ever stood next to a horse, you know what I mean. They put you in your humble place, your pulse may quicken, but it’s out of the ecstatic joy and privilege of touching the beautiful other. Elephants, whales, bears, hippos, moose; they all stir in us a wild excitement. We slow down and hold our breath when they are near. What will they do next? Much of our fear is that they will run away and leave us, giving only a fleeting glimpse into their world, leaving us alone with ourselves. And so it is with God.
Animals show us that fearing God is quite natural and healthy. It is a wonder, a joy, and an overwhelming gratitude to have witnessed such untamed beauty this close up, right here in our hearts.
************************************************
And in contrast to the idea of fear, a poem about pure Love, because as a Lutheran, I can’t help but embrace paradox:
Amidst the confusion
I search for You.
Amidst death and dying and fear
I cry out to you
Amidst surprising joys
I sing to you
Amidst desert places
I drink from you.
***
Amidst the confusion
You search for me
Amidst death and dying and fear
You cry out to me
Amidst surprising joys
You sing to me
Amidst desert places
You drink from me
How can my mind fathom Your love??
Instead, I’ll let my heart smile
Knowing it is Your heart
Instead I’ll let my soul dance
Knowing it already holds the answers
Instead, I’ll let my belly laugh
Knowing it is safe
To be me.
By Chelsea Forbrook, October 2015
In Celebration
As a gift to myself for my upcoming sixtieth birthday, I signed up for a writing retreat in northern Minnesota. I have always loved to write; in fact, I’ve lived much of my life with pencil in hand. I’ve written journal entries, letters, papers, prayers, poems, retreats, and eulogies. Writing has long been my way of making sense of my life, but with little formal training, I thought this might be a wonderful time to learn more.
Though the writing portions of this retreat were mostly helpful and engaging, what I soon learned is that God wanted to use these four threshold days before my birthday to nourish me in mind, body, and spirit, to offer me time to remember what is important and to put my precious life in perspective.
My room, partly underground, was like a small, pine planter box that readily became my haven. Its simplicity, with space enough for bed, desk, chair, and sink, graciously kept my focus on rest and the germinating seeds of my writing. I spent many hours there feeling safe and held.
We began and ended each day in the chapel for twenty minutes of silent meditation. One flame on a center table served as the orienting point for those who gathered. Each morning I opened my spirit with a resounding “Yes” to whatever the day might hold, and each evening I invited my spirit to close the day with a resounding “Thank You” for what had been.
Mealtimes were sacred events. We would begin with a prayer or blessing, sometimes spoken, sometimes sung, always thanking God for our sustenance. The host for each meal would then give a detailed description of the meal that had been carefully prepared including the intention behind the menu and the source of the various foods. Loving attention had been paid to every detail.
I took a long four-mile walk every day either on the road past the open fields or through the woods. Using a wonderful healing prayer I learned from Father Matt Linn, for the first mile, I would take all that was heavy in my heart and lift it up to God; for the second mile, I would open myself to all the love and light God wanted to pour into my open hands; for the third mile, I would wrap myself from head to toe in the light and love I received; and for the fourth mile, from the abundance I had been given, I would ask God to show me for this day all the ways I could share this light and love with others in my life.
One day as I returned from my walk and came up the long driveway to the turnaround, I was greeted by a pile of stones or a cairn, created by one of the retreatants. Of all the writing prompts thus far, this visual evoked the most interest in me. As I sat there for much of the afternoon, I was first reminded of how cairns were used in Biblical times as a sign or memorial of what God had done. I was then led to see the cairn before me in a similar way, as a marker of God’s handiwork in the six decades of my life.
…………………….
Landmark
I can see now
how each stone
has been carefully
lovingly placed
decade upon decade
First wonder, stable and round,
the delight of discovery
Followed by angst, edgy and lopsided,
the uncertainty of belonging
Next focus, polished and sharp,
the vitality of contribution
Then connection, smooth and wide,
the power of love
And purpose, deep and textured,
the gift of life
Onto change, narrow and worn,
the impact of transition
I pause here
to remember, to give thanks
for the years of light and shadow
that have brought me here
all necessary in their own way
to the overall creation
Whatever the story and shape
of this next stone
I claim my intention
to savor what has been
to celebrate what is
to embrace what will be
and to trust, to trust
this foundation upon which
I am being formed
…………………….
For place, for prayer, for provision, for people, for perspective,
I give thanks. Amen.
Reflection Questions
~What elements of your life does God want you to notice, to appreciate?
~How would you describe each of the decades of your life thus far?
~What about your life are you being invited to see from God’s perspective?
c Tracy Mooty, 2015. All Rights Reserved.
A Baptist Discovers Lent
Growing up as a girl born Baptist, Easter was something that we celebrated with triumphant music, Easter-egg hunts, and ham. We were excited for Easter, but Easter always caught me by surprise. Maybe it snuck up on me because I never knew what day it would be falling on. I didn’t know how to look for it, except for in that brief space between Palm Sunday and Resurrection Sunday. Even then, I didn’t know what to do with that space.
I have a feeling though, that what I have been missing out on all of these years is the invitation to participate. I don’t know that I ever participated in Easter beyond waving palm branches on Palm Sunday. We Baptists celebrated resurrection–specifically Jesus’ earthly resurrection and our future heavenly resurrection. Celebrations are good. But we were mostly celebrating something that happened a long time ago or would happen someplace other than here.
I don’t remember being invited to participate in this death and resurrection here and now.
Is that what the season of Lent is about? An invitation to participate in death and resurrection? (This is an honest not rhetorical question. This Baptist girl is still learning about rhythms and the depth of ritual.) Isn’t that what Jesus invites us to every day?
To die. To Live. To let go. To wake up. To participate in the Here-and-Now Life of the Kingdom of God.
To empty ourselves of ourselves
so we have space to receive the
Life God longs to fill us with.
Death and resurrection happen. Ashes and beauty. New life. These are happening. And we are invited to participate.
Sometimes the things that need to die are part of what we do. A few years ago, I was an attorney with three small children and huge questions about faith and vocation. Both of my roles consumed a lot of mental and emotional energy. There was little space for anything else. I knew that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, but I was afraid of letting my career go. I think God had to pry open my grasping fingers until I knew I could no longer hold onto my attorney role. It died. For now.
Space opened up. Space in my heart. Space to quiet my mind. Space to listen. New life emerged from my soul. Words started working their way into my heart and mind and out onto paper. I started to see and hear poetry. This had never happened to me before. Or if it had, I was too distracted to notice it.
Maybe it’s foolish to trade a lawyer job for poetry and words, but I don’t want to trade back. Once I felt deadish inside. I felt like I was playing an ill-fitting role. Now I feel Real. Alive. Connected to the Source of Life. Ashes and beauty are happening in me.
“New beginnings invariably come from old false things that are allowed to die.” –Richard Rohr, Wondrous Encounters: Scriptures for Lent.
This Lenten season, I am asking what else needs to go? What needs to die to make space for New Life? What is taking up unnecessary room, preventing my heart from opening fully? Some of these things are buried so deep, I can’t just drop them. But I can name them, release my grip, and trust that the Creator and Sustainer of Life will do the rest: prying these old, false things loose to make space for the new life he calls forth.
The resulting emptiness is sacred.
Maybe that is why Jesus called it “blessed.”
* * *
Sacred Empty
With empty hands
and an empty heart
I lay myself at your feet,
an exhausted, empty heap.
Empty of words.
Empty of plans.
Empty of Amazing
or Courage or
Daring Doing.
And instead of
“You should”s
And instead of
“Why aren’t you”s
You place your hand
gently on my head
and whisper
Deep into my heart:
“Blessed.”
Blessed in my sacred empty,
I rest.
© J.L. Sanborn, 2015. All Rights Reserved.
Hi. I’m Jessica and I am so thankful to take part in Janet’s blogging adventures. I am the mother of 3 little-ish people and wife to a great guy. I met Janet almost 2 years ago and am so thankful for that life-changing, life-giving encounter. I used to do lawyer things, and now I get to play queen with my daughter when I’m not transporting my kids to school. I share some of my musings about faith and becoming at jlsanborn.wordpress.com.
My Two Versions of a Beatitude
Janet O. Hagberg
Beatitude Poem: French Pantoum form
Stanza 1:
Blessed are you who receive God’s unconditional love
Blessed are you who learn to love yourself
Blessed are you who embrace your shadows
Blessed are you who show compassion to others
Stanza 2:
Blessed are you who learn to love yourself
Blessed are you who bring your gifts to the world
Blessed are you who show compassion to others
For your life will be transformed
Stanza 3:
Blessed are you who bring your gifts to the world
Blessed are you who embrace your shadows
For your life will be transformed
Blessed are you who receive God’s unconditional love
c Janet O. Hagberg, 2014. All rights reserved.
My Original Beatitude
Blessed are you who created me along with every leaf and bird and animal and snowflake; and now watch over us all
Blessed are you who know me inside and out and shower me with your love
Blessed are you who weep when I weep and laugh when I laugh
Blessed are you who make plans for my growth in ways too deep for words
Blessed are you who pick me up when I fall and hold me until the fear transforms me
Blessed are you who choose to use all of my weaknesses and imperfections to display your glory and power
Blessed are you who bring forth joy and gladness out of my pain when I attend to it with courage
Blessed are you who make your home in me
Blessed are you
c Janet O. Hagberg, 2014. All rights reserved.
Reflections on these beatitudes
Which lines resonate most with you?
How does God most bless your life?
How do you bless God’s life in you?
What is your gratitude beatitude?
Reflections on this poem
How do you show trust in God?
How does God show his miracles to you?
Do you still have a trust or doubt issue?
How can you let in God’s love, and be in God’s arms?
Today I share with you a refreshing prayer that I just received from Alice Loddigs in her little book of prayers called Insaneprayers. She has a blog, insaneprayers.blogspot.com Thanks Alice for this helpful prayer.
hello God. it’s me. alice
remember me?
of course you do
you must be wondering the same thing
as i’ve been pretty quiet for some time
but i do remember you too
i’m hearing that you like to hear from me
i’m thinking you like boldness in your friends
i’m really trying to learn to be more vocal
i’m seeing you at work in my life
and in my head
and in my heart
and frankly it scares me just a bit
do i have any audacious temerity?
i believe in you
why is it SO hard
to believe that YOU
have faith in ME?
i believe
dear God, help my unbelief
Reflections on this prayer
What is the bold prayer you would like to pray to God?
What holds you back?
What do you think about God’s faith in you?
What scares you about God at work in your life?
God’s Furnace
Your command erupts from the fire
like molten steel surging from a foundry furnace:
“Step into the flames.
I will set your heart on fire.”
As I take the first step, the inferno begins
to dissolve the armor around my heart
like lead transforming into gold
in the alchemist’s furnace.
A poem from David Weiss’s new book, A Heart on Fire: Poems from the Flames
Reflections on this poem:
What is God asking of you?
Are you taking the first step?
What’s happening as you do, or don’t?
Fire
what makes a fire burn
is space between the logs,
a breathing space.
Too much of a good thing,
too many logs
packed in too tight
can douse the flames
almost as surely
as a pail of water would.
So building fires
require attention
to the spaces in between,
as much as to the wood.
When we are able to build
open spaces
in the same way
we have learned
to piles on logs,
then we can come to see how
it is fuel, and the absence of the fuel
together, that makes fire possible.
We only need to lay a log
lightly from time to time.
A fire
grows
simply because the space it there,
with openings
in which the flame
that knows just how it wants to burn
can find its way.
Judy Brown, on the Inward/Outward blog of Church
of the Savior, Washington DC
Reflections on this poem:
Do you have space between things in your life?
How are you packed too tight?
How do you allow for things to grow themselves?
How do you allow for God in building your inner fire?
Psalm 21 (excerpts)
Forever I will put my trust in You;
and as I abandon myself to you in love,
I am assured of peace.
You root out my fears; standing
firm beside me as I face
the shadows within.
Like a blazing sun your light shines.
My fears flee from your sight;
your fire consumes them.
Generations to come will sing
to your glory
In gratitude and joy for your
saving power.
For You put fears to flight,
that love and justice might reign.
All praise be yours, O Wondrous One!
Forever will I sing and honor
your saving grace.
Translation by Nan Merrill
Reflections on this Psalm:
How have you abandoned yourself to God?
What shadows has God helped you to face?
How has God consumed your fears?
What are you most grateful for?
