heartsteps

Luke 5:1-11

Holy friend,
we gather this morning
weary and worn from the industry
of our living.

Like the Galilean disciples,
we have been fishing night and day
without a single sardine
to show for our troubles.
We have worked our fingers to the bone,
worried our minds into a fine mess,
and frightened our hearts into hiding.

But it is a new day.
Speak words of grace
into our anxious striving.
Stir us with a new purpose,
and grant us a vision
that a soul would want to drop its neck into.

Reveal to us the abundance,
the hidden, teeming life,
just below the surface of our
longing lives.

What is there to do but to follow
our beloved,
the depth-finder Nazarene,
with a new determination
born not of our grit
but of your grace?
Amen.

Bruce Sanguin

Luke 19:28-40, Matthew 21:1-11, Mark 11:1-11

Jesus tells us that even the stones
would cry out if we kept silent.
How do we,
now the stones’ vocal cords,
express our awe?

The weight of pink cherry blossoms
drooping against the blue sky,
and the return of the yellow and oranges faces
we call “daffodil” leave us speechless.
Even as the word leaves our lips,
it must be followed by a confession
that are naming of things
domesticates the wild mystery of life
and manages the “spell of the sensuous”,
which threatens to stop us in our tracks
and grind the industry of our “getting and spending”
to a blessed halt.

We consent to this Sabbath from certainty,
Holy One,
so that we might be re-initiated into the mystery
of life on this planet,
this blue jewel came to life–
Love’s project–
and came to consciousness in us
so that we might break the stony silence
with praise for you,
whom we’ve learned never to bet against.
Amen.

Bruce Sanguin

Genesis 37:1–24

We have managed to roll together
the tangled strands of our lives
and get ourselves here.

We take this soft and colorful ball of life –
the school knapsacks filled with anticipation,
the news from home,
the co-worker we can’t stand,
the friend that means the world to us,
the dreams that become true if we just had time,
the failures that haunt our sleep,
the medical report we await,
the love received,
the healing laughter -
we take it all and entrust it as an offering to
the Cosmic Knitter,
who fashions – like an ancient granny -
from these ends our lives,
a coat of many colors.

We place these woolly bits of our living
in the knitting bag
of the sacred liturgy,
listen for the eternal click and clack of needles,
and eagerly await the finishing touches of Spirit.
Amen.

Bruce Sanguin

The ancient ones saw it this way:
in the beginning the Holy One allowed the light,
“Let there be light,”
and from Spirit’s being,
a radiance emerged
that lit creation’s path toward its sacred future.

The scientists see it this way:
in the beginning, from the darkness and emptiness of nothingness,
an unaccountable explosion of radiation
expanded outward in all directions,
which now our instruments can measure.

The first disciples saw it this way:
Jesus, too, allowed the light
to brighten dark death’s reign,
announcing a new creation,
brightened by justice for all.

The Magi, lovers of the starry skies, saw it this way:
the heavens all pointed to an uncreated light,
now formed in a baby’s eye,
Earth’s native Star,
worthy of wonder and a gift-laden visit.

We might look at it this way:
that same light that shone in Jesus
shines now through us,
and this festival of epiphany is real–
or not–
depending on whether we allow
an eternal shining
to light our path
into a future that awaits
our distinctive stamp.

Let there be light.
Amen.

Bruce Sanguin