Famine

Go away from me!

Christ, have mercy. I am broken and beaten down, worn and weary, and too discouraged to brave the sight of you. I am starved by the hatred of the world. Go away — your glory only reminds me of my imperfection, your grace shames my sin.

Come closer to me!

Christ, be near. I am broken and beaten down, worn and weary, and too discouraged to be alone without you. I am starved by the demons of my own heart. Come closer — your glory reminds me that there is beauty, your grace distills my soul to peace.

Speak to me here.

Spirit, guide me where I am. Amid shifting sands and swirling winds, through change and grief and torment, be the roots that hold me fast to all creation. Patience is scarce, and I am hungry for wisdom. Call me to be present here where I am, here where you are.

Provide for me there.

Spirit, equip me where I am going. Amid shifting sands and swirling winds, through change and grief and torment, be the promise that compels my journey. Imagination is scarce, and I am hungry for direction. Embolden me to go where I am sent, to go where you are.

Do not delay!

Most Holy God, be swift. These days are fleeting, this life burns like grass, and your children long for redemption more than the morning sun. Where healing is hoarded and miracles squandered, take up your name with urgency — creation weeps loudly for you.

Persist forever!

Most Holy God, be faithful. These days are fleeting, this life burns like grass, and your children long for justice that endures the deepest night. Where hope is hoarded and forgiveness squandered, take up your name for all eternity and generations will praise you.

on Genesis  45:-15 and Matthew 15:21-28

cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals

30,000 Feet (Lent 31)

From 30,000 feet in the air, you do not look like an image of God. You barely look like the landscape, and the landscape is just a background to the video game of drone warfare. 

From 30,000 feet in the air, your tears are only a poster image to convict my prayers. Tomorrow it will be another’s suffering that reminds me to ask God what can be done before I spend the day doing nothing.

From 30,000 feet in the air, your laughter cannot teach me God’s joy and your hands cannot reach out to me with God’s peace. I have stained glass rituals, long walks in the park, and book groups for that.

From 30,000 feet in the air, your song cannot be heard for its praise or its protest. I can only interpret a war cry across the distortions of power and bias and segregated experience, but I don’t have time to invest in my own translation.

From 30,000 feet in the air, you do not look like an image of God, and my faith is self-righteously safe from the questions you might ask of it.

on Matthew 17:12

Advent: Goodbye

Still I wait.
Still I listen.
Still there is only
disappointment.
We have waited.
We have hoped.
Perhaps now
at long last
God will answer
the generations
who have cried.
Perhaps.
But here —
here is a
shoulder
for comfort
until God
comes. Unless
God doesn’t come.
Unless the desert
never blooms.
Unless the streams
never bubble in song.
What if…?
What if never?
Cry, creation, cry
and say farewell.
Salvation isn’t
coming for you.

on Isaiah 35:1-7