Prayer 4026: Inspired by the Example of Florence Li Tim-Oi

Almighty God,
we worship and praise you this day,
and seek your will in our lives.
Inspire us by the example of your servant Florence,
who humbly accepted your call to minister
even in the midst of war and oppression,
bringing your sacraments to her people
that their faith and hope be nourished.
Give us the courage to feed the hungry, clothe the naked,
shelter the unhoused, landcare for the ill
as bravely and as selflessly,
even in defiance of tyrants,
and grant the warmth of your comforting embrace
to those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer: Our Small Difference

We may not be able to confront queens,
or challenge presidents;
We may not have the capacity to divert resources,
or uplift communities;
We may not have the voice to silence the noise of war,
or the words to negotiate peace between armies;
But, as we follow you, O Christ, we are able to do something.

And so, we pray that you would inspire us
to commit to and act on
the small difference we can make:
May we bring peace
through small acts of gentleness
and reconciliation;
May we bring wealth
through small contributions
and collaborations;
May we bring safety
through small acts of consideration
and acceptance;
May we bring wholeness
through small acts of care
and service.

And in the small ways, O God,
may our small difference make a big contribution
to your saving work in our world.


Amen.


-- written by John van de Laar. From Sacredise.com 

The Airy Christ

After reading Dr Rieu’s translation of St Mark’s Gospel.

Who is this that comes in splendour, coming from the blazing East?
This is he we had not thought of, this is he the airy Christ.

Airy, in an airy manner in an airy parkland walking,
Others take him by the hand, lead him, do the talking.

But the Form, the airy One, frowns an airy frown,
What they say he knows must be, but he looks aloofly down,

Looks aloofly at his feet, looks aloofly at his hands,
Knows they must, as prophets say, nailèd be to wooden bands.

As he knows the words he sings, that he sings so happily
Must be changed to working laws, yet sings he ceaselessly.

Those who truly hear the voice, the words, the happy song,
Never shall need working laws to keep from doing wrong.

Deaf men will pretend sometimes they hear the song, the words,
And make excuse to sin extremely; this will be absurd.

Heed it not. Whatever foolish men may do the song is cried
For those who hear, and the sweet singer does not care that he was crucified.

For he does not wish that men should love him more than anything
Because he died; he only wishes they would hear him sing.

--Stevie (nee Florence Margaret) Smith (1902-1971), Anglican British poet and novelist who called herself a "lapsed atheist"

Emmaus

We never come to know
completely
never for sure

It appears
but it doesn't

The heart burned
but it grew chilly

Is it Him
He remains silent
Is it You
He disappears

There is just bread
hands and a gesture

The face always different
always a new face

The evening is drawing near
and the day bows
It's the time of rest
water wine bread

Why didn't you ask directly
didn't seize h

His legs
didn't hold His hands
didn't tie shadow to bench

We stand thus
the disciples

who didn't get to Emmaus
our arms heavy
with amazement

Was it Him
It was
For sure
Where

The night swept away the traces
Let us evermore quickly
carry to the others
the certainty of doubt




-- Anna Kamienska (1920-1986), Polish Roman Catholic poet, children’s book author, translator and writer, from Astonishments: Selected Poems of Anna Kamiekanska, edited and translated by Grazyna Drabik and David Curzon

Image: photo from Washington National Cathedral
Lectionary Scripture: Luke 24:13-35, Easter 3A

Sonnet 19: When I Consider How My Light is Spent

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.

--John Milton (1608-1674), English poet, Protestant, politician, intellectual. 

Scriptural Reference: Matthew 25: 14-30 (The Parable of the Talents), Proper 28A

Image: Willem de Poorter, "The Parable of the Talents, or Minas," 17th century, oil on panel.

This poem was written after Milton went blind, and therefore worries that he has lost his chance to truly serve God in these circumstances. However, as a Protestant, Milton then states that God doesn't need human help, and that other ways to serve God will present themselves to him.

The Path I Walk

The path I walk, Christ walks it.
May the land in which I am in be without sorrow.
May the Trinity protect me wherever I stay, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Bright angels walk with me - dear presence - in every dealing.
In every dealing I pray them that no one's poison may reach me.
The ninefold people of heaven of holy cloud, the tenth force of the stout earth.
Favorable company, they come with me, so that the Lord may not be angry with me.
May I arrive at every place, may I return home; made the way in which I spend be a way without loss.
May every path before me be smooth, may woman and child welcome me.
A truly good journey! Well does the fair Lord show us a course, a path.


-- Attributed to Saint Columba (521-597 CE), Irish missionary and saint, founder of Iona Abbey

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)

Blind Bartimaeus

As Jesus went into Jericho town,
Twas darkness all, from toe to crown,
About blind Bartimeus.
He said, “My eyes are more than dim,
They are no use for seeing him:
No matter-he can see us!”

“Cry out, cry out, blind brother-cry;
Let not salvation dear go by.-
Have mercy, Son of David.”
Though they were blind, they both could hear-
They heard, and cried, and he drew near;
And so the blind were saved.

O Jesus Christ, I am very blind;
Nothing comes through into my mind;
‘Tis well I am not dumb:
Although I see thee not, nor hear,
I cry because thou may’st be near:
O son of Mary, come!

I hear it through the all things blind:
Is it thy voice, so gentle and kind-
“Poor eyes, no more be dim”?
A hand is laid upon mine eyes;
I hear, and hearken, see, and rise;-
‘Tis He! I follow him!

-- George MacDonald (1825-1905), Scots minister, poet, fairy tale writer.

Scripture Reference: Mark 10:46-52, Proper 25 B

Chorus IV from The Rock

IV 

There are those who would build the Temple,
And those who prefer that the Temple should not be built.
In the days of Nehemiah the Prophet
There was no exception to the general rule.
In Shushan the palace, in the month Nisan,
He served the wine to the king Artaxerxes,
And he grieved for the broken city, Jerusalem;
And the King gave him leave to depart
That he might rebuild the city.
So he went, with a few, to Jerusalem,
And there, by the dragon's well, by the dung gate,
By the fountain gate, by the king's pool,
Jerusalem lay waste, consumed with fire;
No place for a beast to pass.
There were enemies without to destroy him,
And spies and self-seekers within,
When he and his men laid their hands to rebuilding the wall
So they built as men must build
With the sword in one hand and the trowel in the other.

-- T. S. Eliot (1888-1965), Anglo-American Modernist poet and Nobel Prize winner in literature, from his play The Rock.

Image: Exterior of La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, 2015

Chorus IX from The Rock

IX
Son of Man, behold with thine eyes, and hear with thine ears
And set thine heart upon all that I show thee.
Who is this that has said: the House of GOD is a House of Sorrow;
We must walk in black and go sadly, with longdrawn faces,
We must go between empty walls, quavering lowly, whispering faintly,
Among a few flickering scattered lights?
They would put upon GOD their own sorrow, the grief they should feel
For their sins and faults as they go about their daily occasions.
Yet they walk in the street proudnecked, like thoroughbreds ready for races,
Adorning themselves, and busy in the market, the forum,
And all other secular meetings.
Thinking good of themselves, ready for any festivity,
Doing themselves very well.
Let us mourn in a private chamber, learning the way of penitence,
And then let us learn the joyful communion of saints.

The soul of Man must quicken to creation.
Out of the formless stone, when the artist united himself with stone,
Spring always new forms of life, from the soul of man that is joined to the soul of stone;
Out of the meaningless practical shapes of all that is living or lifeless
Joined with the artist's eye, new life, new form, new colour.
Out of the sea of sound the life of music,
Out of the slimy mud of words, out of the sleet and hail of verbal imprecisions,
Approximate thoughts and feelings, words that have taken the place of thoughts and feelings,
There spring the perfect order of speech, and the beauty of incantation.

LORD , shall we not bring these gifts to Your service?
Shall we not bring to Your service all our powers
For life, for dignity, grace and order,
And intellectual pleasures of the senses?
The LORD who created must wish us to create
And employ our creation again in His service
Which is already His service in creating.
For Man is joined spirit and body,
And therefore must serve as spirit and body.
Visible and invisible, two worlds meet in Man;
Visible and invisible must meet in His Temple;
You must not deny the body.

Now you shall see the Temple completed:
After much striving, after many obstacles;
For the work of creation is never without travail;
The formed stone, the visible crucifix,
The dressed altar, the lifting light,

Light

Light

The visible reminder of Invisible Light.



-- T. S. Eliot (1888-1965), Anglo-American Modernist poet and Nobel Prize winner in literature, from his play The Rock.


Image: Detail from a door at La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, 2015

Bad Theology: A Quiz

"And lo, the Angel of the Lord came upon them,
and the glory of the Lord shone round about them:
and they were sore afraid."

Whenever we aver “the God is nigh,”
do we imply that He is ever otherwise? 

When, in scripture, God's anger is said
to be aroused, just how do you take that? 

If --whether now or in the fullness --we
stipulate that God is all in all, just where

or how could you position Hell ? Which
is better -- to break the law and soothe 

the wounded neighbor, or to keep the law
and cause the neighbor pain? Do you mean it? 

If another sins, what is that to you?
When the sinful suffer publicly, do you 

find secret comfort in their grief, or will
you also weep? They are surely grieving; 

are you weeping now? Assuming sin is sin
whose do you condemn? Who is judge? Who 

will feed the lambs? The sheep? Who, the goats?
Who will sell and give? Who will be denied? 

Whose image haunts the mirror? And why
are you still here? What exactly do you hope 

to become? When will you begin?



--Scott Cairns (1954- ), American poet, Orthodox Christian, and former professor at the University of Missouri, from Slow Pilgrim: the Collected Poems

We Awaken in Christ's Body

We awaken in Christ’s body, even as Christ

awakens our languishing bodies. And look!
My poor hand is Christ, the very hand of Christ.
And look! He enters my foot, and becomes
without conclusion, me. I reach out my hand and, full
of wonder, my hand becomes Christ, becomes
all of him—for he remains indivisibly whole,
without separation from his eternal holiness.
I take one step, my foot advancing, and look!
He is revealed as a flash of lightning, there
proceeding with my lowly foot.
Do you think I blaspheme? Then open
your heart to him, and receive the one who is ever
opening to you, and opening ever so deeply.
If we love him as we say, we wake up
in his body, even here, where our own bodies, entire,
every lash and atom, the honored and the dishonored,
are realized as his, are realized as him. And look!
He makes us—at long last—utterly real, and everything
that is hurt, all that has appeared to us as dark, as broken,
diseased, shameful, ugly, irreparably torn
is in him transfigured, and is revealed as whole,
lovely, illumined with and by and in his light.
And look, we rise from our long sleep, bearing the beloved
with our every step.


--Saint Simeon the New Theologian, 10th century

Maundy Thursday

Kneeling on Boston Common it’s the foot
Naked, resting in my lap with clean towel,
Socks, warm water waiting, that tells me
This is what happens after a cold winter
Of deep snow when you’re homeless in
Dirty socks and cracked shoes that don’t fit:
This foot, bloody, swollen, toes deformed,
I wash gently, first one, then the other, and
Never have I felt so close to Jesus, his feet,
Bare, pierced, bloodied, nailed to the wooden
Cross.

-- Sarah Rossiter, from the Christian Century, April 8, 2011

Unless a grain of wheat

Oh let me fall as grain to the good earth
And die away from all dry separation,
Die to my sole self, and find new birth
Within that very death, a dark fruition,
Deep in this crowded underground, to learn
The earthy otherness of every other,
To know that nothing is achieved alone
But only where these other fallen gather.

If I bear fruit and break through to bright air,
Then fall upon me with your freeing flail
To shuck this husk and leave me sheer and clear
As heaven-handled Hopkins, that my fall
May be more fruitful and my autumn still
A golden evening where your barns are full.

-- Malcolm Guite (1957- ) English priest, poet, singer-songwriter, musician and theologian

Lectionary link: John 12:20-33, 5th Sunday in Lent B

Prayer: Sustained by God's Love

The One who calls each tiny wren beloved
has called us to rise and rejoice:
come, let us adore our Living God.
Governor of the Worlds,
Ground of All Being,
your love sustains us and nourishes us,
bringing our hearts to full flower:
shape us and guide us this day.

May we journey this day
with Jesus as our companion and teacher;
and embody his healing presence
with integrity, honor, and beauty.

Fount of All Wisdom,
may we ever serve you with boldness,
proclaiming your saving power within our lives
as we turn our shoulders to the wheel of compassion
and serve each other with grace and truth.
May we link arms and wills
against the surging power of injustice and oppression,
knit together in love and faithfulness
to bear testimony to your glory, Lord Christ.

Blessed Savior, pour out your grace
upon those who turn to you in prayer and hope,
and grant your blessing to those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Ten Thousand Idiots

It is always a danger 

To the aspirant
On the
Path

When one begins 

To believe and 

Act

As if the ten thousand idiots 

Who so long ruled
And lived
Inside

Have all packed their bags 

And skipped town
Or
Died.

-- Hafiz of Shiraz (1310-1390), Sufi, one of the greatest Persian lyric poets

Blessing (Be each saint in heaven)

Be each saint in heaven,
Each sainted woman in heaven,
Each angel in heaven
Stretching their arms for you,
Smoothing the way for you,
When you go thither
Over the river hard to see;
Oh when you go thither home
Over the river hard to see. 

-- from the Carmina Gadelica III

The Recovery

To see us but receive, is such a sight 
As makes His treasures infinite! 
Because His goodness doth possess 
In us, His own, and our own blessedness. 
Yea, more, His love doth take delight 
To make our glory infinite; 
Our blessedness to see 
Is even to the Deity 
A beatific vision! He attains 
His ends while we enjoy. In us He reigns. 

For God enjoyed is all His end. 
Himself He then doth comprehend 
When He is blessed, magnified, 
Extolled, exalted, praised, and glorified, 
Honored, esteemed, beloved, enjoyed, 
Admired, sanctified, obeyed, 
That is received. For He 
Doth place His whole felicity 
In that : who is despised and defied, 
Undeified almost if once denied. 

In all His works, in all His ways, 
We must His glory see and praise; 
And since our pleasure is the end, 
We must His goodness and His love attend. 
If we despise His glorious works, 
Such sin and mischief in it lurks 
That they are all made in vain; 
And this is even endless pain 
To Him that sees it: whose diviner grief 
Is hereupon (ah me!) without relief. 

We please His goodness that receive; 
Refusers Him of all bereave, 
As bridegrooms know full well that build 
A palace for their bride. It will not yield 
Any delight to him at all 
If she for whom he made the hall 
Refuse to dwell in it, 
Or plainly scorn the benefit. 
Her act that's wooed yields more delight and pleasure 
If she receives, than all the pile of treasure. 

 But we have hands, and lips, and eyes, 
And hearts and souls can sacrifice; 
And souls themselves are made in vain 
If we our evil stubbornness retain. 
Affections, praises, are the things 
For which He gave us all those springs; 
They are the very fruits 
Of all those trees and roots, 
The fruits and ends of all His great endeavours, 
Which he abolisheth whoever severs. 

'Tis not alone a lively sense, 
A clear and quick intelligence, 
A free, profound, and full esteem; 
Though these elixirs all and ends do seem: 
But gratitude, thanksgiving, praise, 
A heart returned for all those joys, 
These are the things admired, 
These are the things by Him desired: 
These are the nectar and the quintessence, 
The cream and flower that most affect His sense. 

The voluntary act whereby 
These are repaid is in His eye 
More precious than the very sky. 
All gold and silver is but empty dross,        * 
Rubies and sapphires are but loss, 
The very sun, and stars, and seas 
Far less His spirit please: 
One voluntary act of love 
Far more delightful to His soul doth prove, 
And is above all these as far as love.

--Thomas Traherne (1636-1694), English priest and poet, whose feast day is September 28.

*- See Matthew 6:19-24

Easter Benediction

When it takes hold, resurrection doesn’t let go,
it shakes the dead awake,
it shakes the darkness from the light,
it shakes the silence from our throats
and it wrestles death from all that is dying

Let us go out into the world
and in the upheaval of resurrection
seek out the life

of awakening,

of enlightenment,

of proclamation,

of revived faith.

And the blessing of God Almighty,

Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer,

rest upon you today and always.

Amen.

~ adapted by me from a prayer written written by Roddy Hamilton, and posted at http://www.nkchurch.org.uk/

Work and Contemplation

The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel
A pleasant chant, ballad or barcarole;
She thinketh of her song, upon the whole,
Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel
Is full, and artfully her fingers feel
With quick adjustment, provident control,
The lines—too subtly twisted to unroll—
Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal
To the dear Christian Church--that we may do
Our Father's business in these temples mirk,
Thus swift and steadfast, thus intent and strong;
While thus, apart from toil, our souls pursue
Some high calm spheric tune, and prove our work
The better for the sweetness of our song.

-- Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861), English Romantic poet