Showing posts with label baptism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baptism. Show all posts

Sunday, May 23, 2021

Epiphany on the Jordan



Beginning here we glimpse the Three-in-one;
The river runs, the clouds are torn apart,
The Father speaks, the Sprit and the Son
Reveal to us the single loving heart
That beats behind the being of all things
And calls and keeps and kindles us to light.
The dove descends, the spirit soars and sings
‘You are belovèd, you are my delight!’

In that quick light and life, as water spills
And streams around the Man like quickening rain,
The voice that made the universe reveals
The God in Man who makes it new again.
He calls us too, to step into that river
To die and rise and live and love forever.


--Malcolm Guite (1954- ), English priest, theologian poet and musician


Today is the anniversary of my baptism in 1965 at Southern Hills United Methodist Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Saturday, January 9, 2021

The Baptism of Jesus (First Sunday after Epiphany)



Beginning here we glimpse the Three-in-one;
The river runs, the clouds are torn apart,
The Father speaks, the Sprit and the Son
Reveal to us the single loving heart
That beats behind the being of all things
And calls and keeps and kindles us to light.
The dove descends, the spirit soars and sings
‘You are belovèd, you are my delight!’

In that quick light and life, as water spills
And streams around the Man like quickening rain,
The voice that made the universe reveals
The God in Man who makes it new again.
He calls us too, to step into that river
To die and rise and live and love forever.

--The Rev. Malcolm Guite (1954- ), Anglican priest, poet, musician, and theologian, from his blog.

Sunday, July 29, 2018

Ritual


If God is the newest thing, the youngest
thing, as Meister Eckhart said, then look,
He's here as my son hands baby Maggie
to the priest, who crosses her with water.
Like tic-tac-toe: she entered the O
of eternity through the mudroom of birth
and the next move is to X her fontanelle
with God's good creature, water. See,
while she sleeps on, how fragile she is,
open to being pierced or blessed,
while outside the bright air trembles and a bell
start clanging the whole sky to pieces.

-- Jeanne Murray Walker (1944- ), American poet and playwright