Prayer for today:
Let Your love play upon my voice and rest on my silence.
Let it pass through my heart into all my movements.
Let your love, like stars, shine in the darkness of my sleep and dawn in my awakening.
Let it burn in the flame of my desires and flow in all currents of my own love.
Let me carry Your love in my life as a harp does its music, and give it back to You at last with my life.
Rabindranath Tagore [1861-1941]
Well it is hot and sunny here in Scotland, not something we experience that often!
So I think it is time for a little Mary Oliver…
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
(from New and Selected Poems, 1992)
Picture is ‘flow[er]” by Jonny Baker on Flickr
i have lived on borrowed truth for a while
and borrowed faith when necessary
i know I have taken certainty from places that shouldn’t have given it to me
and probably wouldn’t have, willingly.
I have tried to make it my own.
all of it.
i have given it the names of my gods,
and scratched in deep to its essence my name and my claim
that it’s mine
and it’s me.
i have held it fast with fear and determination,
and close as to make it mine forever
but here now
you ask for it back
and i give it.
the left over shape of a life
and a faith
tarnished, scratched and battered
with the indentations of my clasping
and i say
sorry for messing what was beautiful
thankyou for trusting me with what’s yours.
In the darkest night
it is not possible to believe
that light will come.
Because light has come before,
doesn’t mean it will again.
Hold faith tonight
for those who see the darkness
stretch before them –
who know no other truth than that –
whose barren-ness prevails,
who are buffeted by despair,
who cannot breathe for fear.
Join your prayer to God’s:
let there be light.
Now it is time to sit quiet
alone with You
and to Sing
a re-dedication of my life
in this Silent
and overflowing joy.
A poem for Monday.
If you are already clutching your ‘to do’ list and wondering how you will make it through the week then this is for you – ask for the gift of a moment 🙂
Picture is ‘rhythm of the tides’ by Jonny Baker on Flickr