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.

1/17/12 Tuesday Prayer

Dear God:

You are mysterious and unknowable;

Found in vastness and smallness;

Specific and vague…

Yet, sometimes I feel like I know and understand you so much better than I know people.

(And sometimes I have to remind myself – in the oddness of my silly brain that forgets to honor and forgive - “I am ‘people.’”  )

The fact that you are, somehow, all these things makes you, somehow, more predictable.  The unpredictability of calls and resurrections; of nature and creation; of the seen and unseen; the miracles and miracles and miracles and more…

These are the things of which you are.  They may be surprising but not really surprises.  We expect these things from you.

But, people…

The colleague who is so much more than you knew…

The friend who has hidden so much…

The neighbor you were just sure you didn’t like…

The brilliant family member who chooses so poorly…

The evil a good person does…

The sacrifice a stranger makes…

The moment you look in the mirror and see in to the heart of the person standing there…

(“I do not understand my own actions. 

For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

It’s not always - sometimes not - a good day when some things make sense. 

There are the days that compliments shine like stars out of our eyes and the days they bead on the surface, repelled.)

Love us.  Please, love us.

Open our eyes to it…

And after the teeth-grinding, stomach-churning, soul-exhausting agony of it all

Help us

Laugh

Our

Way

Into something like…

A miracle.  Something like…

An amazed…

Amen.

Tuesday Prayer for 1/10/12

And still...

We start our conversations in the middle like this. It can have been days, weeks, months and then, there it is. We're praying again.

Yes, we are praying again; the common ground where we meet. Not just me subjecting you to my infernal blathering or you subjecting me to your eternal silence, we meet there.

You've heard my best days and my worst days; been invited in to hopeful conspiracies; been the target of my wrath; tossed me in to fearful waters. You've made me laugh.

You know me and, some days, this does not feel good or pleasant. I've lived such an imperfect life and tried to construct amazingly intricate camouflage (that I will deny, to most, is there).

You roll your eyes. And you stay. You know me better than any other, and yet, you stay.

Thank you. All these ways you love...
They are more than the sand...
I come to the days end and...
I am still here, with you and...
You are still here with me and everything is quiet,

and still...

Tuesday Prayer for 1/03/12

Thank you, God, for happiness
but, thank you for not having to be happy all the time.

Thank you for those rainy days of pensiveness tinged with numbness;
Those breaks from presence and vividness and the exhausting attempts to sustain something like joy.

Thank you for the melancholy that asks the "whys" and "what fors;"
that rubs away at placidness like hands concussively kneading dough.

Thank you for that pounding heartbeat of anger that rises up like a tide and leaves clarity in its scoured ebb.

Thank you for the sadness that tells the other truths about change;
where cheerleading hope is calmed and the losses - the costs - are counted and honored.

Thank you even for fear but, frankly, not as much.  May it expose threats but not create them; help us react proportionally but not overreact; may it save lives and not end them.

Thank you even for loneliness, I think.  It does seem to help me find you, know you, seek you, trust you...

Thank you for these gifts.

Thank you, God, for happiness
but, thank you for not having to be happy all the time.
Amen.

Tuesday Prayer for 12/20/11

Dear God;

These days are dark.

The morning comes late and the night comes early.  The rain gives hints and clouds have settled in like the achy chill in my bones. 

Everything seems muted.  Voices and music all play through cotton. 

I don’t feel quite awake but can’t seem to sleep enough, either.

My arms, my legs, my thoughts feel heavier.  My cheeks even feel weighted down.  There is a dull, weightiness.

There is a dull, weightiness with sharp edges;

A droning on like lazy, stinging bees

(moneymoneyCRASHmoneymoney…)

A hissing like drunken, angry snakes

(protestprotestprotestVIOLENCEprotest…)

A shouting voice that becomes calmed into a disparate chant (ENVIRONMENTENVIRONmentenvironmentenvironment…)

I find myself laughing, but sarcastically.  I find myself complaining about things that don’t matter.  I find myself offended too easily.  I find myself losing myself.

…

Lord, have mercy

…

Christ, have mercy

…

Lord, have mercy

…

Emmanuel, please…  Please, oh, please...  Help me find myself.  Help us find us, again.

Help us.

Find us.

Splash that mountain cold Jordan water in our face to help us wake up and shake it off and let out that kind of head-shaking mountain cold Jordan water shout.  Then, may we stretch and stomp and feel that

crisp

ness.

May there be songs that have hope flowing out of them and that turn even that dried out pile of dreams in to seeds, again.

Help us to laugh and light candles for light and warmth and may we shine and shine and shine and shine and shine and shine and…

And, when that sun comes, again may we

whoop and

holler

that the darkness did not overcome it and may we

whoop and

holler

at the changing of the seasons and

may we plant and

may we grow and

may we love and

may we know, deep in our bones (with the same sort of heat of the sun that heals the chill),

That, everything – EV UH REE THING - is gonna be alright.

That we can help MAKE everything alright.

That, everything is gonna be alright.

Every thing.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow,

Praise Christ the word in flesh born low,

Praise Holy Spirit evermore;

One God, Triune, whom we adore…

Everything.

Amen.