Statues in the Park

I thought of you today
when I stopped before an equestrian statue
in the middle of a public square, 

you who had once instructed me 

in the code of these noble poses. 

A horse rearing up with two legs raised, 

you told me, meant the rider had died in battle. 

If only one leg was lifted, 

the man had elsewhere succumbed to his wounds; 

and if four legs were touching the ground, 

as they were in this case— 

bronze hooves affixed to a stone base— 

it meant that the man on the horse, 

this one staring intently 

over the closed movie theater across the street,
had died of a cause other than war. 

In the shadow of the statue, 

I wondered about the others 

who had simply walked through life 

without a horse, a saddle, or a sword— 

pedestrians who could no longer 

place one foot in front of the other. 

I pictured statues of the sickly 

recumbent on their cold stone beds, 

the suicides toeing the marble edge, 

statues of accident victims covering their eyes, 

the murdered covering their wounds, 

the drowned silently treading the air. 

And there was I, 

up on a rosy-gray block of granite 

near a cluster of shade trees in the local park, 

my name and dates pressed into a plaque, 

down on my knees, eyes lifted, 

praying to the passing clouds, 

forever begging for just one more day.

--Billy Collins (1941- ), US Poet laureate 2001-2003, from The Trouble with Poetry, 2006.

Image: Equestrian statue of George Washington, Richmond Virginia, erected 1858.

Prop Us Up on Our Leaning Side

“A pastor of a small church would occasionally call on one gentleman to pray, and every time this one particular guy would pray, he would end with the strangest statement, “And, oh Lord, prop us up on our leaning side.”

Finally, the pastor pulled him aside, and he said, “I love the way you pray, but I don’t understand your little closing phrase. What are you talking about – prop us up on our leaning side?” He responded, “Well, Pastor, I’m a farmer. I live out on the farm and, you know, I live in the country. I’ve got an old barn, and it’s been there a long time. It’s been through a lot of weather, and a lot of storms, and a lot of bugs have eaten at it.” 

He said, “I got to looking at it one day when I was riding on my tractor, and I noticed that it was leaning to one side. So I thought to myself, oh my goodness! The barn is leaning, and it’s a matter of time before the whole thing falls. 

He continued, “So, you know what I did? I went and got some pine beams, and I propped it up on its leaning side.” He said, “It still leans, and probably always will. But I propped it up on its leaning side. And it’s not going to fall down because I propped it up on its leaning side. And I got to thinking about it. 

When I was on the tractor, Pastor, and I was riding in the field, I thought about the kind of year I’ve had, and some of the storms I’ve been through, and some of the people that are bugging me, and eating away at my joy and eating away at my spirit. And I just got to thinking, you know, I’m still here! I’m still standing after all that stuff I’ve been through. The storms, and the howling winds – they couldn’t topple me. I’m still standing by the grace of God.”

He concluded, “From time to time, I find myself leaning. Leaning toward my old desires, leaning toward anger, leaning toward becoming bitter or hateful at the people who are bugging me, or leaning toward going back to the old habits and the old life I used to have. And when I feel myself start to lean toward that tendency, I just remember that old barn, and I pray out loud - "Lord, thank you for propping me up on the leaning side." 

- Jentezen Franklin

The God of Gentleness

Divine Gentleness 

   Descend upon us
That we may
   Encourage
   Rejoice
   Forgive, and
   Console one another
All the days of our lives.

– Sister Mary Murray, OP (Dominican Sisters of Sparkill)

Two Lorries

It's raining on black coal and warm wet ashes.

There are tyre-marks in the yard, Agnew's old lorry
Has all its cribs down and Agnew the coalman
With his Belfast accent's sweet-talking my mother.
Would she ever go to a film in Magherafelt?
But it's raining and he still has half the load

To deliver farther on. This time the lode
Our coal came from was silk-black, so the ashes
Will be the silkiest white. The Magherafelt
(Via Toomebridge) bus goes by. The half-stripped lorry
With its emptied, folded coal-bags moves my mother:
The tasty ways of a leather-aproned coalman!

And films no less! The conceit of a coalman ...
She goes back in and gets out the black lead
And emery paper, this nineteen-forties mother,
All business round her stove, half-wiping ashes
With a backhand from her cheek as the bolted lorry
Gets revved and turned and heads for Magherafelt

And the last delivery. Oh, Magherafelt!
Oh, dream of red plush and a city coalman
As time fastforwards and a different lorry
Groans into shot, up Broad Street, with a payload
That will blow the bus station to dust and ashes ...
After that happened, I'd a vision of my mother,

A revenant on the bench where I would meet her
In that cold-floored waiting room in Magherafelt,
Her shopping bags full up with shovelled ashes.
Death walked out past her like a dust-faced coalman
Refolding body-bags, plying his load
Empty upon empty, in a flurry

Of motes and engine-revs, but which lorry
Was it now? Young Agnew's or that other,
Heavier, deadlier one, set to explode
In a time beyond her time in Magherafelt ...
So tally bags and sweet-talk darkness, coalman,
Listen to the rain spit in new ashes

As you heft a load of dust that was Magherafelt,
Then reappear from your lorry as my mother's
Dreamboat coalman filmed in silk-white ashes.

--Seamus Heaney (1939-2013), Irish poet, playwright, translator, and Nobel Prize Winner

Prayer for Peace

Good and gracious God,
May we hear and believe in Jesus’ words,
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.”

May this promise of peace find a home in our hearts
and in the hearts of our sisters and brothers.
May this promise of peace be heard
by those who are poor, troubled, and anxious.
May it be heard by Earth herself.
May we treasure, embrace, and generously share
this gift of peace all the days of our lives.
Amen.

– Sister Eileen Gannon, OP

Dismissal: Go into the world with assurance, hope, and promise

Go into the world with assurance, hope and promise:

the grace of the Word of life rest upon you;
the love of the Source of life embrace you;
and the transforming power of the Breath of life
help, strengthen and surprise you,
this day and all your days. Amen.

--The Rev. Jeff Shrowder, The Billabong

Offertory Sentences for Epiphany Season

Gracious God,
accept the offering of your Church,
the hearts of your people
joined in praise and thanksgiving,
in the name of Jesus Christ the Lord.
Amen.


Lord, accept your people’s gifts,
not gold, frankincense or myrrh,
but hearts and voices raised in praise
of Jesus Christ, our light and our salvation.
Amen.



Baptism of Christ

Open the heavens, Holy Spirit,
for us to see Jesus interceding for us;
may we be willing to share his baptism,
ready to share his cup
and strengthened to serve him for ever.
Amen.


Presentation of Christ in the Temple

Father, in Christ there has sprung up a light for the righteous;
accept the offering of your Church
and grant that Christ may shine in us
to the praise and glory of your name.
Amen.

-- from the Church of England

Proper Prefaces for Epiphany

And now we give you thanks
because, in the incarnation of the Word,
a new light has dawned upon the world,
that all the nations may be brought out of darkness
to see the radiance of your glory.


And now we give you thanks
for, by the leading of a star,
you have revealed your only Son to the world,
that in following him
we are led from darkness into his marvellous light.


And now we give you thanks
because, in the wonder of the incarnation,
your eternal Word has brought to the eyes of faith
a new and radiant vision of your glory.
In him we see our God made visible
and so are caught up in love of the God we cannot see.


And now we give you thanks
because, in the mystery of the Word made flesh,
you have caused a new light to shine in our hearts
to give the knowledge of your glory
in the face of Jesus Christ our Lord.


And now we give you thanks
because you have revealed your eternal plan of salvation,
and have shown your Son Jesus Christ
to be the light to the nations.


--from the Church of England

Wise Women Also Came

Wise women also came.
The fire burned
in their wombs
long before they saw
the flaming star
in the sky.
They walked in shadows,
trusting the path
would open
under the light of the moon.

Wise women also came,
seeking no directions,
no permission
from any king.
They came
by their own authority,
their own desire,
their own longing.
They came in quiet,
spreading no rumors,
sparking no fears
to lead
to innocents’ slaughter,
to their sister Rachel’s
inconsolable lamentations.

Wise women also came,
and they brought
useful gifts:
water for labor’s washing,
fire for warm illumination,
a blanket for swaddling.

Wise women also came,
at least three of them,
holding Mary in the labor,
crying out with her
in the birth pangs,
breathing ancient blessings
into her ear.

Wise women also came,
and they went,
as wise women always do,
home a different way.

--Jan Richardson, Methodist artist, theologian, writer, and poet

Image ©Jan Richardon, janrichardson.com 

Sestina of the Tramp-Royal

Speakin' in general, I 'ave tried 'em all,

The 'appy roads that take you o'er the world.
Speakin' in general, I 'ave found them good
For such as cannot use one bed too long,
But must get 'ence, the same as I 'ave done,
An' go observin' matters till they die.

What do it matter where or 'ow we die,
So long as we've our 'ealth to watch it all—
The different ways that different things are done,
An' men an' women lovin' in this world—
Takin' our chances as they come along,
An' when they ain't, pretendin' they are good?

In cash or credit—no, it aren't no good;
You 'ave to 'ave the 'abit or you'd die,
Unless you lived your life but one day long,
Nor didn't prophesy nor fret at all,
But drew your tucker some'ow from the world,
An' never bothered what you might ha' done.

But, Gawd, what things are they I 'aven't done?
I've turned my 'and to most, an' turned it good,
In various situations round the world—
For 'im that doth not work must surely die;
But that's no reason man should labour all
'Is life on one same shift; life's none so long.

Therefore, from job to job I've moved along.
Pay couldn't 'old me when my time was done,
For something in my 'ead upset me all,
Till I 'ad dropped whatever 'twas for good,
An', out at sea, be'eld the dock-lights die,
An' met my mate—the wind that tramps the world!

It's like a book, I think, this bloomin' world,
Which you can read and care for just so long,
But presently you feel that you will die
Unless you get the page you're readin' done,
An' turn another—likely not so good;
But what you're after is to turn 'em all.

Gawd bless this world! Whatever she 'ath done—
Excep' when awful long—I've found it good.
So write, before I die, "'E liked it all!"

--Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), English poet, novelist, journalist, and short-story writer

Prayer When I am Facing the Unknown

Every day we’re surrounded by challenges, Lord.
Some are easy to work through offering us opportunities to grow,
while others often seem beyond our limits.
Faced with a situation that could have a life-changing outcome,
we sometimes find ourselves feeling lost and alone.
Our minds are filled with “What Ifs” —
and we strain to see around the curve in the road in facing the UNKNOWN.

Help us to slow down, Lord, and live in the moment,
drawing on Your grace and the support of those around us.
Help us to realize that You are our greatest strength.
Let our prayer reflect our faith and trust in You.
Help us pray with open hands,
offering You our doubts and fears of what is unknown.
Bless us with the gift of resilience, believing we are never without hope.
Lord, you will forever be our guiding light. Amen.

– Sister Elizabeth Ehlers, OP (Dominican Sisters of Sparkill)

Sestina

I saw my soul at rest upon a day 

     As a bird sleeping in the nest of night,
Among soft leaves that give the starlight way
     To touch its wings but not its eyes with light;
So that it knew as one in visions may,
     And knew not as men waking, of delight.

This was the measure of my soul's delight;
     It had no power of joy to fly by day,
Nor part in the large lordship of the light;
     But in a secret moon-beholden way
Had all its will of dreams and pleasant night,
     And all the love and life that sleepers may.

But such life's triumph as men waking may
     It might not have to feed its faint delight
Between the stars by night and sun by day,
     Shut up with green leaves and a little light;
Because its way was as a lost star's way,
     A world's not wholly known of day or night.

All loves and dreams and sounds and gleams of night
     Made it all music that such minstrels may,
And all they had they gave it of delight;
     But in the full face of the fire of day
What place shall be for any starry light,
     What part of heaven in all the wide sun's way?

Yet the soul woke not, sleeping by the way,
     Watched as a nursling of the large-eyed night,
And sought no strength nor knowledge of the day,
     Nor closer touch conclusive of delight,
Nor mightier joy nor truer than dreamers may,
     Nor more of song than they, nor more of light.

For who sleeps once and sees the secret light
     Whereby sleep shows the soul a fairer way
Between the rise and rest of day and night,
     Shall care no more to fare as all men may,
But be his place of pain or of delight,
     There shall he dwell, beholding night as day.

Song, have thy day and take thy fill of light
     Before the night be fallen across thy way;
Sing while he may, man hath no long delight.

--Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909), English poet, writer, critic, and playwright

Stretch Us, O Lord

Merciful God,
These are stretching times.
Like a rubber band that expands to hold what is gathered in its circle,
we seem called to stretch ourselves beyond our normal limits:

We pray to stretch our vision to see beyond our own needs,
great as they may be at this time.
May we see more clearly the beauty
that surrounds us in all the marvelous creatures
—human, animal, and plant—
with whom we share Earth, our home.

We pray to stretch our heart space
to increase our capacity for compassion and respect
toward those from whom we would rather pull away.
May we open ourselves to those who are different from us
in their choices, values, and desires.

We pray to stretch our hearing
that we listen not only to those with whom we agree
but ever more carefully to those who disagree with us,
that we may learn from them what they hold dear.

We pray to stretch our voices to speak
on behalf of those, near and far,
who are silenced by tyranny, violence, or destitution.
We pray to expand our gratefulness
for all your creation, all of our family. Gather us in a circle of care
as we seek your grace in these stretching times.
Amen.

– Sister Aileen Donovan, OP (Dominican Sisters of Sparkill)

A New Year's Poem

A New Year's Poem

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rimes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

--Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), Poet Laureate of Great Britain for much of Victoria's reign