Forms
taking shape
surrounding, bounding
new possibilities for new life
creating, calling out
of nothing all
life.
Words
sounding clear
defining, bringing
fresh expressions of grace
giving, nurturing in
us a gentle
life.
Dawn
sun peeking
brightening, revealing
the first gasps of day’s breath
speaking, moving
towards joyful
life.
20 October 2015
The flatness that surrounds is dull,
deadening the senses, slowly leeching
life from hapless souls stuck in the
wicked sameness of daily life.
I wake to this morning by morning
wondering if today will provide the
moment of color – deep, renewing,
capable of restoring my voice which
has become sullenly silent. Why,
I wonder, has the flatness of life
stolen my voice? How do words
hide in such plain sight? Is there
a secret to call to them, to bring them
back home, to unleash their power
to reshape the flatness, to renew
what has grown weary, to bring life?
16 October 2015
Music forms as the notes float upward,
little fingers dancing across black and white.
Her voice joins the notes encircling them,
forming a sacred melody of joyful praise.
What calls forth this response of prayer
through song? Who breathes life into
her small voice? O Divine Spirit, ’tis You
who animates the breath pushed through
throat and chords, who leads fingers in
their walk across the ivory keyboard.
Gracious Spirit, You call forth prayer in
ways no words can utter. Only by You
do our music and dance, flowing words,
simple drawings and molded clay emerge
from the creative space, transforming
simple offerings into beautiful Praise.
1 October 2015
All this talk about the moon – why not?
Bright and round,
the moon lightens
the night darkness.
No where along
the sidewalk can
I escape the lights
of the cities. Yet
Your Light breaks
through the hazy sky.
From the heights,
blood-colored Moon,
you call to order the
stars to ponder
the heavy matters
of the night. Look
mercifully upon this
pilgrim and guide
my feet with your
dark light. Red
Moon, pouring
your life’s blood
upon all who
gaze, fill me with
the fire of courage
to walk on through
this dark night in
search of the Holy.
29-30 August 2015
Yesterday brought another tragic shooting at a Mississippi college. When will we begin to have some serious conversations about violence and theological reflection on ways we followers of Christ might be at the forefront of change? I don’t know about you, but I have had enough…
Enough!
No more let guns kill.
No more let innocent lives
be lost in the acrid smoke
of powder and lead.
Enough!
No more let words fly,
untouched by grace,
sharpened by the tongues
of hateful hearts.
Enough!
No more let bombs drop.
Keeping peace is a charade
meant to make killing
and torture righteous.
Enough!
No more let prisoners
die in the name of justice.
The needle and chair,
revenge legally executed.
Enough!
Enough!
No more death! No more war!
No more hateful words!
No more legal injustice!
Enough!
23 July 2015
Feeling a bit low after my little injury, a friend reminded me that this was just a curve ball and that blessings might lie on the other side. And today I am aware of many who have been thrown some very nasty curve balls in life. And I thought of St. Paul. I pray these words might bring comfort and hope.
“If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8.31)
If I had a choice, being still
would not be an option.
In fact, pushing, increasing
my speed, is my preference.
But, the footing isn’t always
sure, the tumble can injure.
What’s left is slow stillness;
not by choice, but just because.
Plans fade in the fog of meds,
and a new awareness emerges.
I’ve been training for the race,
But it’s not as I had envisioned.
God has had another race in mind;
the reward is not medals, but eternity.
Sprints and squats cannot get me
fully ready for this joyful finish line.
Only failure, set backs, sorrow, death
can strengthen me to run the race,
persevering to the end, crossing the
line, not finishing, but beginning again.
6 September 2015
The poets understand God.
For it is they who can play
with words in the deep
awareness that words are
inadequate to the task of
describing God. Poets see
that words can only be etched
in sand. For it is the task of each
generation to fill the water’s edge
with all we can say about God
and then to sit quietly, enjoying
the waves of the incoming tide
wash away our greatest thoughts
in the deep resonance of God’s
laughter. To feel the deep joy of
a parent for a child who offers his
best effort; who delights in the delight
of that young one who sees his
gift admired by the eyes of Love.
21 August 2015
“But deep in the darkness is God…”
Rainer Maria Rilke, “The Book of Hours” I, 50
The Dark is my companion.
My fellow Traveler is truly
unwelcome. I would rather have
another. Someone bright, cheery.
But we have come a far ways
together, the Dark and I. There
were times, I admit, that I hoped
my walking partner was lost
on the lighted pathways I enjoyed.
I often prayed to stay in the light,
to give up the journey rather than
risk finding the Dark again.
But the summons was as persistent
as the Dark. Rather, the Summoner
was always calling, always beckoning
me to get up and move along.
The Dark would find me, inevitably,
along shadowed curves on the road
or in the low spots on the path.
So on we would sojourn in silence.
It has taken me over half the journey
to realize that the Summoner has
always been present on the road
with us. Rather, the Summons was.
The same Voice at whose insistent
summons I walk forth from the light
was silently walking alongside me
in the night. I push through the Dark
because of the ever-present call of
the One who seeks me in the brilliant
darkness of time, who strengthens
me in my weakest moments.
I somehow find the courage to trust
that the Light I seek lingers around the
next curve, at the top of the next hill,
waiting to reveal all the Dark has taught me.
20 August 2015
“The Spirit immediately drove Jesus out into the wilderness. And he was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan. And he was with the wild animals, and the angels were ministering to him.” (Mark 1:12-13)
The dryness of the air
must have startled him.
At least the first night
as it cooled, leeching
the heat from his burnt
skin. “Is this really needed,”
he thought as the endless
minutes melted slowly away.
The voice of hunger
joined the refrain, “Yes,”
it sang, “if you think I am
empty now…” But he
quieted the voices with
his own voice which made
even the breeze stop for a
moment – “Hush,” He simply
said. The silence within
and surrounding him opened
the eyes of his heart to notice
the ladder – busy with angelic
beings who brought great joy,
bread for Bread’s journey and
ladles of refreshing, healing wine,
Love overflowing His Heart.
By Ram Lopez
1 July 2015
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