Pshaw (Tuesday prayer for 8-14-2012)

(somewhat inspired by 1 Kings 2:10-12; 3:3-14)

Dear God:

Please edit the following recipe.  At this point it's just not clear and poorly titled.

"First, turn on music (Beethoven always seems appropriate but playing anything by Blood, Sweat and Tears fills the room with delicious smells of irony [or, if sarcasm is needed, any version of "Amazing Grace"])

- Take 5 parts knowledge

- Let experience warm/cool to room temperature and, then, mix in equal amounts (equal to something that just seems right) slowly

- Add beauty and bitter to taste (neither garnish nor dust, however)

- Take one part love (know that using an artificial substitute will not work)

- Find as much fear as you can.  Crush it thoroughly.  Set it aside (do not use [frequently toxic!]).  This exercise gets you ready for the next step.

- Mix 'til thoroughly, well, mixed.  I mean really, really mix.  This might take a long time.  I mean, like years, even.

- Allow ingredients to settle and set.

...

- Then mix like crazy until you're tired of mixing like crazy.

- Allow ingredients to settle and set.

...

- Allow ingredients to settle and set.

...

- Allow ingredients to settle and set.

...

- When everything is settled and set, wait a little longer.

...

- Debate with someone you trust whether or not it's settled and set.

- At the point your both admit you don't really know if it's settled and set, it's probably settled and set.  Probably.

- Find knife shaped like the Holy Spirit. Trim off parts that seem stale.  Don't worry that the knife is imprecise.  It is accurate.

- Macramé a set of chopsticks and try to eat it.  If others are laughing at you, you're doing it right.

- Pass out spoons.  Distribute.  Keep your fingers crossed and exit the room.  Quickly. You really don't want to hear what they're about to say.

- Be happy to be done with the damn thing."

Like I said, "needs editing." This recipe makes no sense.  No sense at all.  Please correct, soon.  Noon tomorrow should be fine

Oh, and do fix the title:

"Wisdom in three easy steps."

Pshaw.

Balderdash.

Blahdityblahdityblahdityblah.

http://www.etsy.com/listing/65246579/10-inch-whisk-hanging-lamp

Amen.

The View From Here (Tuesday Prayer for 8/7/2012)

Dear God:

There are many good things.

Many, many good things.

There is fullness in these things and

I take it all in.

It is a feast.

I take it all in.

I become full.

These things are beautiful and

They are good;

Of all these good things;

I am full.

There are, of course, other things that

Try and elbow their way in.

They push these good things to the side and

Insist to

Overfulling.

There are these good things and these other things and

They interact and

They push and

They shove and then

They all insist.

All these things.

They insist.

Take these things;

These good things and these other things.

Take them.

Build a mountain with these good things and these others things.

I will climb that mountain

I will stand on top

I will spread open my arms

I will close my eyes

I will feel the wind

I will hear the roar of quiet

I will take a deep breath and

I will leap

Into

...

...

...

Awe.

Amen

Tuesday Prayer for 7/3/2012: AND/OR

(Directly inspired by Mark 6:1-13)

Dear God:

Home is where your heart is.

AND/OR

Your heart is where your home is.

Presence.

AND/OR

Place.

“...among the villages teaching...”

Creative gathering and sharing gives the opportunity for creative wandering.

AND/OR

Creative wandering gives the opportunity for creative gathering and sharing.

“...take nothing for their journey...”

Those that wandered went from village to village.

AND/OR

Those living in villages welcomed in those that wandered.

“...the dust that is on your feet...

This is what needs to be shaken off.

AND/OR

This is what roots grow in.

Place.

AND/OR

Presence.

AND/OR

AND/OR

AND/OR is the road we take

AND/OR is the home we live in

Amen.

Tuesday Prayer for 6/12/12

(inspired by Mark 4:26-34)

Dear God:

There are days these words flow out.  I am in their way and I know it.  Prayer gets me out of the way.  

My words and your words play like dogs let loose.  They run around and yip and yap and run and dodge and chase 

and then rest 

and sleep in the sun.

But other days...

“Mother Teresa was once asked,
‘When you pray, what do you say to God?’

She replied, ‘I don’t talk, I listen.’

‘Ah. What does God say to you?’

‘He doesn’t talk. He listens.’”

This may be wise 

but

it is 

not 

comforting.

I listen with eyes closed 

and I am not always sure 

you are still there.

I am listening because I am empty and that 

silence 

echoes 

itself.

(I listen and only hear the rattle

of some

wind

blown

tiny

seed.)

Amen.

6/5/12: Yes

(Inspired by Mark 3:20-35)

Dear God:

(deep breath)

...

Ruach.

Pneuma.

Spirit.

(deep breath)

...

Ruach.

Pneuma.

Spirit.

(deep breath)

...

Yes.
...

Amen.

Again (Tuesday Prayer for 5/29/12)

(Somewhat inspired by John 3:1-17 and...)

Dear God:

So what if this were only the beginning?

What if this day was not the sum total of the accumulation of every day before it?

This day, maybe, a birth day...

Curled up tight in that womb of God

Held and warm and nested and familiar and

cramped and

needing 

to 

stretch.

What if God, now, uncomfortable with our presence,

Breathing,

Aching.

Praying

We would just do that new thing 

and be born already.

Maybe be born into this world that doesn’t even know it is waiting; 

Be born, 

loudly with an inhale (ours and God’s)

and, then...

a holler (ours and God’s).

A loud holler;

A loud earth-rattling, truth-telling, chain-breaking, fear-fighting, love-wanting holler

That startles us and startles God.

And, maybe, we are born in to a world that didn’t even know it was waiting

And we are born in to a world we didn’t even know was.

And we yell,

And stretch,

And, maybe, we see this new thing that was always there and waiting, unaware.

(God, then, holding us tight,

Swaddling us,

Feeding us,

Loving us,

And whispering promises in our ear 

Speaking in a language we will try to learn our entire 

lives.)

So what if this were only the beginning?

What if this day was not the sum total of the accumulation of every day before it?

This day, maybe, a birth day...

Amen.

4/24/12 Tuesday-ish prayer

(While thinking about Psalm 23)

Dear God;

There is that moment before sleep when

I am resting in to it when

Relaxing in to it when

It is as though someone has flipped the mattress when

My arms fly out when

I grip the mattress

For

Dear

Life

In order to keep me from falling into

Oblivion.

At least, it's oblivion I'm afraid of.

The reality is that I do not know.

It is not obvious it's oblivion.

It could be that, indeed, that the nothing I am afraid might be there actually is but

Maybe

It's just a short fall that won't hurt at all.

Maybe there are pillows on just the other side of oblivion.

Maybe there are green pastures and still waters; 

Maybe restoration, there.

There is no obvious obligation to oblivion being obligatory;

"obligatory" being that state the living reside in after being convinced that the end of one thing can only result in an easy heaven, a merely appropriate purgatory or an eternal-increasingly painful hell.

(Here, there are memories of Charlie.  Charlie was a huge, giant muscled, 28 year-old, six foot six, mentally different, camper and I was his skinny, 16 year-old "assistant" counselor at the camp for "special" adults.  He loaded heavy boxes on to trucks for Goodwill and grunted to communicate.  He always seemed angry to me.  

We were at the pool at the same time as the 2nd grade camp and, as he stood in the middle of the water trying to figure out what to do.  Some scrawny 7ish year old kid, for no apparent reason,  jumped on his back.  Charlie reached back, grabbed his arm and flung him a good five feet.  The 7ish year old kid screamed as he flew threw the air, in to oblivion, and was only silenced by plunging in to the water.  

Everyone froze.

7ish fought his way back up out of the water, inhaled a desperate breath and then exhaled laughter and joy before, as quickly as he possibly could, he swam back towards Charlie to be flung in to oblivion, again.

It soon became a pool full of 7ish monkey-piraña making the water foam as they rushed toward Charlie as quickly as possible and as they climbed Charlie and he, with his left and his right, flung the screaming, laughing 7ish through the air; arching through the air then splashing like the most bizarre fountain.  He did not smile.  He may have grunted with delight.    I could not tell. 

It was dangerous and beautiful.)

What happens if I fall?  If I let go loose of this death grip I have will you catch me or let me fall and which might be better?

(Will you,  even, fling me through the air with a graceful arch of unintention?)

Amen.

4/10/12 Tuesday Prayer

(from marketingforscientists.com)

(Prayer inspired by John 20:19-31)

Dear God:

Sitting at the local pub. Having a nice agreeable, appropriately sarcastic conversation about politics 

we agree about.  

Then, the "What do you do for a living part?" part of the conversation.  

"I'm a minister." 

Pause.  

"Really?"

Single head nod from me, then

Pause.

"You mean like a Christian minister?"

Single head nod accompanied by a "Yep" then

Pause.

"Huh."

Pause.

Turn towards me with confused look while saying:

"But you seem smart..."

Pause.

"Um..."

And another pause.

"Er..."

And another pause.

"Thank you?"

"No, seriously.  I mean that as a complement."

And the conversation continues 

as gracefully 

as a middle school dance.

Because, how do you, then talk about that blurred, overlapping line between thinking and praying?

How do you talk about miracles?

How do you talk about doubt and

Faith making you miserable and

Faith making you angry and

Faith making you face failure and

Faith making you doubt and

How do you talk about Love holding 

on 

like 

skin?

Walking through doors that you know you had shut and dead bolted and padlocked?

Inviting you to doubt it as it stands there

In front of you

Knowing you are, 

simply, 

too smart 

to believe?

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

Amen.

A Tuesday prayer on another day...

(Vaguely inspired by Isaiah 50:4-9a from today’s lectionary)

Dear God:

Thank you for the gift of snark and the snarky: 

this gift of prophets and messiahs and disciples and kings; 

this gift of activists and satirists and teenagers and non-conformists; 

this gift of artists and musicians and comedians and even the occasional preacher.

Thank you.

For all those days I needed to laugh conspiratorially,

Thank you.

For all those days truth needed to be cut loose, 

Thank you.

For all those days I felt bound by those damning hints of threats that would suggest lies or disloyalty,

Thank you.

For all those days I stood in the way of this truth or that truth and needed to be shoved aside,

Thank you even for that.

(Although not as much.  

Just kidding.  

Sorta.)

Let the Saints of Snark revel; 

those Aesops and Ovids;

those Chaucers and Swifts;

those Oscar Wildes and Miguel de Cervanteses;

those Mark Twains and Wil Rodgers;

those Dorothy Parkers and Dr. Suesses;

those Kurt Vonneguts and Lenny Bruces;

those (add your Saints of Snark here) and here.

Those unknown saints around the camp fires and those long walks that were present during those Holy Awful Days that helped them make it to Better Miraculous Days;

those who snickered at Centurions;

parodied Pilate;

and spoke with biting, cruel and honest, anger about those things it was right to be angry about.

For snark; Thank you.

(And for those who don’t get it, well, bless their hearts).

Amen.

3/20/12 Tuesday Eve Prayer

Sort of a reflection on Jeremiah 31:31-34.

Dear God:

Here we are again. 

Me, praying.  You, listening. 

Somehow, this is enough.

(Most days,

anyhow.)

I know I am heard and I feel I am heard.  You are subtly present, then, and subtly loving, then, and subtly very, very real.

Yours is the love I cannot shake.  Yours is the love that stays. 

Love is your power. 

I get that, now.

Love is that, try-again power;

That, “it-will-be-OK” power;

That, “don’t-give-up” power. 

It is that “re-do” power.

It is not, however, that “undo” power.

(I wish it was.)

Promises broken…

Bad decisions…

Hurt caused…

All those things done and all those things left undone…

Ugh, I hate doing the wrong thing.  I really do.  It is on those days that this one thing seems like the one overwhelming thing that defines every thing and every moment and will define every thing and every moment. 

It feels like a hole

in my soul.

…

But, on those days...

….

I know I am heard and I feel I am heard.  You are subtly present, then, and subtly loving, then, and subtly very, very real.

Yours is the love I cannot shake.  Yours is the love that stays. 

Love is your power. 

I get that, now.

I used to doubt you more but, now, I neither have that kind of time

nor the inclination.

You are so much better for me than I am for myself, alone.

This love of yours…

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

Amen.