An Ascension Prayer from an Earthly View

(reposted from June, 2011)

O Risen Lord ...

I don’t know how to look at your ascension
in the same way as The Twelve.
I really don’t.

You see, we don’t wear the same sandals
(my walking shoes are actually sneakers)
nor do we have the same dust on our clothes.
I haven’t eaten with you or laughed alongside you;
I haven’t looked into your eyes or wept with you.
I haven’t walked with you in quite the same way,
questioned as they did,
feared in the same way
or stared at your hands
as they must have stared at them.

I don’t know how to look at your ascension
in the same way as The Twelve,
with the same history or intimacy.
I really don’t.

But what I do know is that I long for something.
There are times when I sit in the dark coolness
of the evening and look heavenward,
searching the skies.
This is a longing that I don’t understand.
There are other times when I look into the eyes
of everyone I pass on the street,
hoping to see you … longing to see you in the
faces of others. Have you come back to us?
Have I looked into your face?

The longing is there, so strong ….
to stand before you in awe,
to walk with you and listen,
to be filled with God’s Spirit and be surprised,
to be sent out as a most unlikely disciple.

Is that why you ask us to gather in one place?
Are you telling me that others have the same longings?
I am bound by earthly thinking so perhaps I will never
understand your ascension completely.
What I am beginning to understand is that I am not
so different from one of the Twelve ...
I just wear different sandals
and have accumulated
different dust in my journey.

Amen.

"In Darkness and Silence"

I awoke very early this morning,
for no apparent reason.
Like a child, I slipped out of bed,
carrying my pillow
and dragging my blanket behind me
into the dark, dark living room.

I sat,
hugging my pillow,
my blanket covering me,
my toes cold.
In this darkness
where there was not one piece of light
and in the silence,
where strangely not one bird was singing.
I wondered if this is what it feels like
to be empty of all worship.

Darkness and silence.
A nothingness.
Ah, but what is that I hear?
Is it a bird’s song?
A single bird, gloriously singing?
And is that a small bit of light
piercing the darkness of predawn?
Now, oh my, the birds are singing
in full chorus!

Even in darkness and silence,
there is the promise of worship
waiting to sing …
waiting for us to see
in yet another day
that God has indeed come into our lives!

And it was night …
and it was morning ..
and it is good!

"Reminders on this Good Friday"

The weather is like it always is on Good Friday ... or so says my mother. "There will be moments in this day when the clouds roll in. There will be dreariness and rain." I have heard this since my early childhood years and have grown to look toward the skies on Good Friday. I think that I shall do this every Good Friday for as long as I live. Yes, it is cold and rainy and dreary this morning. I need to remind myself ... "It's Friday, but Sunday is coming. It's Friday, but Sunday is coming. It's Friday, but Sunday is coming." That is our faith, my friends ... "It's Friday, but Sunday is coming!"

May you not weep alone on this Good Friday.  May God hold you steady at the foot of the cross.

Anything But Routine

Sunday, we left our palm branches
on the pews
and stopped shouting "Hosanna!".

Monday was just that ...
... a Monday with its same old routines.

Yesterday, people milled about
as if this week would prove
to be like last week.
No different.

But this week IS different ....
An upper room is being prepared.
A betrayal is in the final stages of planning.
Intimate prayers will soon be heard.
A command to 'remember' will be demonstrated.
Feet will be washed by the Servant.
Hands will be washed by one in power ...
washed to remove responsibility.
Disciples will fall asleep as Jesus prays.

Soon, there will be a kiss -
a kiss that will ultimately move us
to the foot of the cross
and finally to the victory
of an empty tomb.

This week is anything but routine.

O God, help us to walk together through this week as faithful, wide-awake disciples. Amen.

"A Nicodemus Moment"

(John 3:14-21)


She sat in a darkened sanctuary
  expecting little
  yet hoping for much.
She sat in a darkened sanctuary
  alone …
and then Light walked in,
  uninvited and unannounced,
  whispering, “For God so loves you….”

Her heart beat faster
  as she heard that
God had loved her in her ‘befores’ …
… before she asked for this Love,
… before she admitted to
       needing this Love,
… before she sought to
       understand such a Love,
… before she realized that she
       wanted this Gift of Love.

"When Tables Are Overturned"

(Please read John 2:13-22)

It isn’t always to be found in the quietness of our Lenten retreat, or
staring in a mirror at a forehead marked by an ashen symbol of the
cross ... startling as that is to see. It isn’t always to be found
in these forty days, is it, oh God? In our reflection? Or in our
kneeling in repentance? Or in our prayers for re-created hearts?

“Do away with your selective hearing," Jesus shouts, "and your
selective sight, and your selective compassion and your selective
worship."

"Do away with your tables, so carefully placed, waiting with shiny
currency ... perfect to make an unfair exchange. Do away with the
expensive sacrifices … too expensive for those who are most needy."

In this Lenten journey, when we still don’t understand and when we see
no need for the clearing of those things, we see you, Jesus,
methodically making a whip of cords and we hear you shout – yes, SHOUT
at us!

"Do away with the distortion of worship! Cleanse the holy temple!
Take these things out of here! This IS my Father’s house!"

There might be a time during this journey of ours when our tables are
overturned, our money is scattered, feathers fly and we find ourselves
scrambling.

There might be a time when all we have left is worship with no agenda
other than to worship our Lord, and the forming of words in our hearts
of "injustice" and "love" by the One who shouted them at us in the
marketplace.

When tables are overturned and money is scattered, when righteous
indignation of our Lord is seen and heard, the least, the lost and the
lonely become visible and we become a voice in their gouging world.

When tables are overturned, we might begin to overturn shattered
lives. When feathers fly, we might begin to soar.

anna (and our Lenten journey continues)

"Here I Am, Such as I Am"

(Ash Wednesday)

Here I am, such as I am ...
Imperfect.
Weak.
Broken.
In need of forgiveness.
In need of your Presence.

Here I am, such as I am ...
Confessing.
Repentant.
Hopeful.
Listening.

Here I am, such as I am ...
Willing to be melted
and molded.
Wanting a newly created
pure heart.

Here I am, such as I am ...
Branded with a mark...
your unmistakable mark.

Lead me, O God,
walk with me
in these 40 days....
walk with me always.

Amen.