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.

2/21/12 Tuesday-ish Prayer

Dear God:

Sometimes what I need help with, more than anything else, is regaining a sense of perspective.  There is no one day that defines every day. 

An ebb

is not a desert

and a flow

is not a flood. 

I get caught in that unsustainable moment and claim “I have arrived” or

“I am at the end” when these are only true at two times, really:

1.     Our first breath.

2.     Our last breath.

And, even that, I do not know for sure…

An ebb

is not a desert

and a flow

is not a flood. 

An ebb

is not a desert

and a flow

is not a flood. 

Guide me in to another way – a more hopeful and responsible way – that clarifies the consequences and possibilities of this day, this hour, this moment. 

May I feel hunger while celebrating bounty and celebrate bounty while remembering hunger.

May I remember to share my experience of bounty and hunger with those called to love me and welcome that sharing with those I am called to love.

May I have the courage to risk all for that love when risk is called for and not beat myself up on those days I am, simply, too weary.

(hold me gently, those days)

An ebb

is not a desert

and a flow

is not a flood. 

May I feel the cool moss under my feet when the days are warm.

May I delight in the hint of sun when the air is cold. 

And, Sabbath…  Sabbath, Sabbath, Sabbath…  Guide me through to some Sabbath, every day.

Amen.

1/31/12 Tuesday-ish Prayer

Dear God:

It’s easier to pray some times more than others.

There are those times that it feels as though the world is screaming in my ear.  I try and listen or try and speak and both feel fruitless in the echo chamber my mind becomes.

There are those times it feels as though my soul is pacing back and forth like a leopard in its cage.  My heart will not settle down.  My jaw clenches.  I feel so nervous I’m ill.

There are those times I’m holding on to some things too tightly; these things have sharp edges or no edges at all (like water or oil or air).  The one hurts and the other is endlessly frustrating.

Sometimes I am just

too

damn

tired.

Jesus had it right.  He’d go away and pray. 

(Part of me likes to think he was hiding, too, because I want hiding to be at least a little holy.)

I imagine him on that hill top staring out and seeking perspective; or down by the water seeking renewal; or lying on his back in the high grass under an early afternoon sun…

drifting…

off…

to sleep…

(From http://debsgarden.squarespace.com/)

I imagine those deep sighs.  I imagine that deal-making time with God and all that questioning.  I imagine the prayers seeking empathy and comfort and then…

the calming…

and, then, those deep breaths…

The sounds of wind and that sun and those clouds and the birds of the air and the lilies swaying in the field…

(Eventually, I know that those disciples come find Jesus to remind him of the work that needs to be done but, God, if its all the same with you I’d rather not imagine that

quite

yet.)

Amen.