Tell me, stars, how often God has shown up for you in your cold existence. Over the millennia, how often has God been your renewal, your hope, your reason for being — or have you died already, unnoticed, your light unrequited?

Tell me, tears, if you ever grow tired of chasing God through life’s pain. Does it weary you to wash the burden of loneliness, again and again, to sink and shudder and plead for comfort that does not come, to trace the path of love’s absence?

Tell me, shadows, how many nights you will pace before giving up the search. What way can you hope to find, what new place of wonder, if God has ceded your spacious mystery to the chasm of fear? Who will want to shelter within you now?

on Psalm 77


Remembering, O Light, that your sign of mercy is my sign of trust,
from horizon to horizon, sunrise to sunset, mountains to seas.

Taking a deep breath in, letting trust reach down to my toes.

Remembering, O Life, that your time of patience is my time of wilderness
through tumult and transgressions, and at last into the care of angels.

Releasing a long exhale, reaching wide for the nearness of angels.

Remembering, O Love, that your torn heavens are my torn heart,
breaking logic and sense and explanation for a moment of delight.

Receiving the fragments of heaven, shaking loose the need for repair.

Be generous with signs in the wilderness
and mercies in the morning, O Promise,
until remembering is a steady blessing
that flows like a wide river toward peace.

on the Revised Common Lectionary readings,
cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals

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