O Holy Mystery,
the day is near
and we have gathered
to await your coming.

Find us here in our waiting.
Kindle the hope within us.

O Holy Mountain,
the way is steep
but we are gladly coming with
plowshares and pruning hooks.

Meet us along the journey.
Kindle the hope between us.

O Holy Waking,
the dawn beckons
when we will put on your spirit
and seek the well-being of all.

Meet us in the morning.
Kindle the hope of creation.

May it be so, until it is so.

cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals


knocked at my window
last night but the dreamcatcher
must’ve been turned in
the wrong direction
for only despair found its way
to my dreams.
After many nights like this I am
converted: let me no longer
wait for hope to find me
on my pillow
let me no longer chase its tail
like a siren’s song through the stars.
Instead let me watch for hope
wide awake,
out and about
in the world far
from my pillow, out
where life walks and works,
loves and leaves, out where life
and fails.
Let hope touch
eyes-wide-open daydreams
and ordinary “to do” lists and daily routines,
find its expression in watchful
hearts and words.
May hope
be the holy imagination that
does not let us go from
sunrise to sunset,
not the soft comfort
that helps me sleep at night.
O God our God,
Shadow of every dream,
Conviction of all that is not yet,
send hope
into the world like
a stranger into the streets:
ever present, ever surprising, ever challenging
and who and
how we see ourselves and
our ways of being
in your world,
our ways of being within
your dreams.

on Psalm 39:4-7

Lent 15 (Hope)

I believe
that I shall see
the goodness of the LORD
in the land of the living.
(Psalm 27:13)

I no longer want to forestall hope
to locate it in God’s future
so clearly beyond
my reach,
beyond this life

It’s time for hope now, in the
land of the living that is
now — even if now
is only a deceptive tease
a shadow of the living land
on the other side of that curtain

I believe
in the goodness of the LORD
for today, for these fleeting hours
the goodness of the LORD taking on
time and space and beauty and togetherness
against the rush
the noise
the callousness
the neglect

It’s long past time for this land
to be living, so long washed
in a baptism of blood
as if
that would save us
but let the blood flow in veins again
no more through the streets
or under the swingsets
let the blood have being
so that the being might dance
and by the stomping rhythm of feet
the land itself might have
its heartbeat
its pulse sparked
not electrocuted because
the dancing feet will finally teach us
that instruments of death
cannot start life

Stomp! the exclamation point of a demand:
I will no longer delay hope
we will no longer designate hope
for the after life — no
hope after
is not hope at all
but rather
a crumpled article in newsprint
reporting back from the other side
that things will change in the by-and-by
but this day
on this side
of life
I refute
eventual hope