Our Father whose creative Will
Asked Being for us all
Confirm it that Thy Primal Love
May weave in us the freedom of
The actually deficient on
The justly actual.
Though written by Thy children with
A smudged and crooked line
The Word is ever legible
Thy Meaning unequivocal
And for Thy Goodness even sin
Is valid as a sign.
Inflict Thy promises with each
Occasion of distress
That from our incoherence we
May learn to put our trust in Thee
And brutal fact persuade us to
Adventure Art and Peace.
-W.H. Auden, from For the Time Being
O God, we pray this day:
for all who have a song they cannot sing;
for all who have a burden they cannot bear;
for all who live in chains they cannot break.
for all who wander homeless and cannot return;
for those who are sick and for those who tend them;
for those who wait for loved ones and wait in vain.
for those who live in hunger
and for those who will not share their bread,
for those who are misunderstood
and for those who misunderstand;
for those who are captive and for those who are captors,
for those whose words of love are locked within their hearts
and for those who yearn to hear those words.
Have mercy on these, O God.
Have mercy on us all.
- Ann Weems
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Lent, Day 2
Sometimes, hard-trying, it seems I cannot pray—
For doubt, and pain, and anger, and all strife,
Yet some poor half-fledged prayer-bird from the nest
May fall, flit, fly, perch—crouch in the bowery breast
of the large, nation-healing tree of life;
Moveless there sit through all the burning day,
And on my heart at night a fresh leaf cooling lay.
-George MacDonald
For doubt, and pain, and anger, and all strife,
Yet some poor half-fledged prayer-bird from the nest
May fall, flit, fly, perch—crouch in the bowery breast
of the large, nation-healing tree of life;
Moveless there sit through all the burning day,
And on my heart at night a fresh leaf cooling lay.
-George MacDonald
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Ash Wednesday
I'm planning to post a poem each in day in Lent. Here's the first, for Ash Wednesday:
THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain,
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
-Gerard Manley Hopkins
THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain,
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
-Gerard Manley Hopkins
Monday, January 2, 2012
God Pause
Starting today, through next Sunday, I'm the writer for the Luther Seminary God Pause daily devotions. Here's the link if you're interested: http://www.luthersem.edu/godpause/daily_view.aspx
Sunday, January 1, 2012
The New Year
This is the end of W.H. Auden's Christmas play, For the Time Being. A good one for the new year!
Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes --
Some have got broken -- and carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school. There are enough
Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week --
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, attempted -- quite unsuccessfully --
To love all of our relatives, and in general
Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away,
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.
The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory,
And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now
Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are,
Back in the moderate Aristotelian city
Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid's geometry
And Newton's mechanics would account for our experience
And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets
Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten
The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment
We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious;
Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.
And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause,
We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit
Our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose
Would be some great suffering. So, once we have met the Son,
We are tempted ever after to pray to the Father;
"Lead us into temptation and evil for our sake."
They will come, all right, don't worry; probably in a form
That we do not expect, and certainly with a force
More dreadful than we can imagine. In the meantime
There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair,
Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem
From insignificance. The happy morning is over,
The night of agony still to come; the time is noon:
When the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing
Without even a hostile audience, and the Soul endure
A silence that is neither for nor against her faith
That God's Will will be done, That, in spite of her prayers,
God will cheat no one, not even the world of its triumph.
Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes --
Some have got broken -- and carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school. There are enough
Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week --
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, attempted -- quite unsuccessfully --
To love all of our relatives, and in general
Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away,
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.
The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory,
And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now
Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are,
Back in the moderate Aristotelian city
Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid's geometry
And Newton's mechanics would account for our experience
And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets
Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten
The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment
We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious;
Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.
And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause,
We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit
Our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose
Would be some great suffering. So, once we have met the Son,
We are tempted ever after to pray to the Father;
"Lead us into temptation and evil for our sake."
They will come, all right, don't worry; probably in a form
That we do not expect, and certainly with a force
More dreadful than we can imagine. In the meantime
There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair,
Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem
From insignificance. The happy morning is over,
The night of agony still to come; the time is noon:
When the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing
Without even a hostile audience, and the Soul endure
A silence that is neither for nor against her faith
That God's Will will be done, That, in spite of her prayers,
God will cheat no one, not even the world of its triumph.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
More Bach and Wednesday Book(s)
The Sunday night concert of the Bach Cello Suites performed by Joshua Roman was amazing beyond any imagining. It was a quite remarkable tour de force just to do it in one concert, but musically and depth-wise it was incredible. He played 1 and 2, we had a 15 minute intermission and he played 3. Then there was a two-hour dinner break. Larry came and picked up me and our friends Lynn and John Williams and we went to Cafe Presse on 12th and Madison. (A great place if you're pining away for France!) The concert resumed with 4 and 5, again followed by a 15 minute intermission, and then 6. Although he must have been way tired (even for a 27-something) at the end, the whole performance was riveting. I realized in the middle of the 2nd that I had better move my head or my neck was going to freeze in place! We are very glad we were there for what will be remembered as one of those very special musical evenings. There are several young performers who are finding great meaning in playing Bach, and doing it beautifully. It was often considered the realm of the "mature" musician. But Mr. Roman certainly proved otherwise Sunday night. And Hilary Hahn is just the best for the unaccompanied violin pieces. And I particularly like Simone Dinnerstein's recording of the Goldberg Variations. They all have such great energy to bring to these profound and complex works. Mr. Bach would be very happy, I think. Maybe he is!
I am still reading my way through Phil Rickman's Merrily Watkins books - just can't help myself! They get better as he goes along. His historical stuff is so well researched that I also learn a lot as I go. I love novels where you learn things - then you feel just fine reading fiction. (I wouldn't need to learn things to do that.) Anyway, the good news on the fiction front generally is that Hilary Mantel's sequel to Wolf Hall is coming out in the Fall. Yippee! The title is Bring Up the Bodies. Sounds cheerful. But what a writer!
I did take a break from Merrily Watkins to read The Help. (Downloading ebooks for my Kindle from the library is way cool!) I thought I should read it because it has been so popular, but that also makes me skeptical. It was very good. It dealt with such painful topics with fluency and grace. And it is a great story. It was nice to learn that the author had similar experiences. But I think she could have told the story - or stories - even without that extra life foundation. I just heard of a book (non-fiction) about African-American women moving north after the Civil War. The title is The Warmth of Other Suns and sounds quite compelling. Do comment if you've read it or heard about it.
Tomorrow we can open our Advent calendars! If you don't have it, check out the Jacquie Lawson online version. All happens in London! Hooray!
I am still reading my way through Phil Rickman's Merrily Watkins books - just can't help myself! They get better as he goes along. His historical stuff is so well researched that I also learn a lot as I go. I love novels where you learn things - then you feel just fine reading fiction. (I wouldn't need to learn things to do that.) Anyway, the good news on the fiction front generally is that Hilary Mantel's sequel to Wolf Hall is coming out in the Fall. Yippee! The title is Bring Up the Bodies. Sounds cheerful. But what a writer!
I did take a break from Merrily Watkins to read The Help. (Downloading ebooks for my Kindle from the library is way cool!) I thought I should read it because it has been so popular, but that also makes me skeptical. It was very good. It dealt with such painful topics with fluency and grace. And it is a great story. It was nice to learn that the author had similar experiences. But I think she could have told the story - or stories - even without that extra life foundation. I just heard of a book (non-fiction) about African-American women moving north after the Civil War. The title is The Warmth of Other Suns and sounds quite compelling. Do comment if you've read it or heard about it.
Tomorrow we can open our Advent calendars! If you don't have it, check out the Jacquie Lawson online version. All happens in London! Hooray!
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Advent 1
Here it is the first Sunday in Advent. Seattle wears its normal Advent garb: rain, rain, rain. But the first candle is lit and we pray for Immanuel to be God-with-us once again.
At the end of worship at Phinney Ridge today we sang this verse:
Can it be that from our endings,
new beginnings you create?
Life from death, and from our rendings,
realms of wholeness generate?
Take our fears, then, Lord and turn them
into hopes for life anew:
With this light, and with our witness,
through us let the world see you.
-Dean W. Nelson
This is a nice Bach day as well. It started, as I have on this Sunday for 40+ years, with listening to Bach's Cantata 140: Wake, Awake, for Night is Flying. Now this afternoon I'm going with friends to hear all six of the cello suites. Joshua Roman, the young former principal cellist with the Seattle Symphony is doing them. He'll play three, then we get a break for dinner, then come back for the other three. It's a little too much Bach for Larry, so he'll come and join us for dinner.
Happy Advent!
At the end of worship at Phinney Ridge today we sang this verse:
Can it be that from our endings,
new beginnings you create?
Life from death, and from our rendings,
realms of wholeness generate?
Take our fears, then, Lord and turn them
into hopes for life anew:
With this light, and with our witness,
through us let the world see you.
-Dean W. Nelson
This is a nice Bach day as well. It started, as I have on this Sunday for 40+ years, with listening to Bach's Cantata 140: Wake, Awake, for Night is Flying. Now this afternoon I'm going with friends to hear all six of the cello suites. Joshua Roman, the young former principal cellist with the Seattle Symphony is doing them. He'll play three, then we get a break for dinner, then come back for the other three. It's a little too much Bach for Larry, so he'll come and join us for dinner.
Happy Advent!
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