Lent 3

May I be disappointed for a moment, Silent God? Would you mind terribly if I sit with this hurt? (I’ll try not to wallow.) I need to say that you’ve felt distant. And probably that’s my fault, but for now maybe you could be gracious on that point… My spirit is lonely for you, despite the fullness of life. I’ve gone out looking for you; I’ve tried to welcome you in; but you must be too busy. I’m sorry. Can we try again tomorrow?

Lent 2

You are right on time, O my God and my Peace,
breaking through the clouds to catch my attention
and cheer my troubled spirit. You are right on time,
Perfectly Unexpected God, waking me up from sleepwalking,
interrupting the course of carelessness — the autopilot —
with which I was stepping into this day. Ah, you!
You are ever timely as you deepen my breath and
turn my head, saying “Wait. Don’t miss me today.
Take me in and be satisfied. Seek my radiance,
and be radiant yourself with enduring peace.”


Lent 1 (Ash Wednesday)

One of us has a god-complex, O God.

One of us has an anxious need
to know and to keep life in order.

One of us has a distorted view of sufficiency
and a daily resistance to wounded living.

One of us has a drive to be and do more, and
a combative approach to surrender and sabbath.

One of us has a god-complex, O God
. . . and one of us is actually God.

Here I am, to lay down my god-complex
in this pile of ashes and grace.

Handling Fire

My words are like tongs
handling the hazy red coals
of a fire too holy
which nevertheless
has called me to its side.
So I whisper: “Beautiful!”
and an ember pulses brighter;
“Delightful!” and a spark
cracks with laughter;
“Restorative!” and
a flame licks warmly.
“You are unchanging and
ever-surprising,” I woo,
and the fire swells.
“You are satisfying and
unsettling,” I affirm,
and then I set the tongs down
while I bask on the hearth
and rebuild my courage
for handling the fire again.

Grasping at a Love Letter

There are books that ignite my mind and creativity.
There are frosty dawns that sing beauty to my spirit.

There are homemade brownies that melt my willpower.
There are children’s goodnight kisses that satisfy my soul.

I would settle for all of these displays of love
yet you, O my God, go above and beyond.

There are memories which ward off the long night’s demons.
There are faithful friends whose gifts exceed my gratitude.

There are symphonies and silences that remind me to hope.
There are tides, herons, and creaking oaks that tell me stories.

I could be content to know you in these reflections
but you, O my God, are truer than all reality.

You are fire that lusts for life.
You are beauty that invites pursuit.

You are love that embarrasses human intimacy.
You are tenacity that shatters every construct of allegiance.

I should realize that words will never suffice
but for today, in adoration, I am grasping at a love letter.