Birthing the Sacred

Presbyterian Bloggers

Powered By Ringsurf

If you want, the Virgin will come walking down the street

Pregnant with the Holy and say

 

I need shelter for the night, please take me inside your heart

My time is so near

 

Then under the roof of your soul you will witness the sublime

Intimacy, the divine, the Christ

Taking birth

Forever

 

As she grasps your hand for help, for each of us

Is the midwife of God, each of us

                             St John of the Cross

 

______________________________________

 

Ah Sacred One

who lives and moves

in us

and around us

 

Ah Sacred One, whose ways

are mystery

 

Do not allow us in our limited minds

to reason away the mystery

 

to take what is wild and free

and life-giving

the fire of fierce love

and quench it

 

to take the powerful wind of the spirit

and reduce it

to nothing more than words and platitudes

rules and dogma

 

We can

It is possible

abort the birth of the divine

fail to allow love to be born

through us

 

Or

we can birth the Sacred

allowing that which permeates us

that with which God has impregnated us

to seep out of our souls

 

raw and screeching

unavoidable, inconvenient, and yet

the most precious gift

 

a treasure we welcome with wonder

and share

 

God

GodWithUs

GodInUs

 

Liberator and redeemer

the savior of the world

 

There is pain in the birthing

and danger too

 

But in the fullness of time

we, full of the mystery

can no longer resist the compulsion to give birth

 

Jesus will come

Irresistible

Transforming

 

Born forever

in us

in spite of us

 

a light that comes

into the darkness

and is not overcome

 

The Sacred Child

making us Sacred Children too

 

Back to the Garden

Presbyterian Bloggers

Powered By Ringsurf

His hands can shape through ours

And our sounds can somehow echo what God has ever

said…

 

His mind can shape through ours

Our bodies – and the earth – are like clay. Is

that not so, my

dear

                               St. Teresa of Avila

________________________________________

 

Ah dear children

“We are stardust, we are golden”

We are salt, we are yeast, we are light

 

Make no mistake

For all our fear, for all our greed

Despite our flawed belief

That life is an endevour we must undertake

Alone

 

We are instruments the Sacred

Clay to be formed

Vessels built to contain

Love

 

We are the hands and feet of God

We are the voice crying in the wilderness

“you are loved”

 

It is a matter of clinging

to Jesus as a vine clings to a branch

let the life force flow

through us

 

Separated

we become dry and brittle creatures

dry branches trodden underfoot

by the powers of the world

 

 

Detached we are

Tossed and blown

Deceived

 

But we can cling to God

Knowing that God clings to us

It is there, deep down

At the center of who we are

 

The presence, the spark,

the power and love

that permeates us

 

transforming

restoring the image

until love is the natural expression

of who we are

 

and we join the sun, and the moon

and the stars

and all creation

in proclaiming the glory

and love

of God

 

and we transform rather than

conform

 

bringing a little bit of heaven

to earth

leading the way back

to the garden

 

So I sit.....

Presbyterian Bloggers

Powered By Ringsurf

And with every step I took it became more impossible for me to turn back. And my mind was empty—or it was as though my mind had become one enormous, anaesthetized wound. I thought only, One day I'll weep for this. One of these days I'll start to cry.

 James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room

___________________________________________

 

I sit and stare blankly at the screen

my mind is empty, my hands are still

 

I do not know how long I have been sitting this way

My mind, heart, soul

An anaesthetized wound

 

I am preoccupied with the chaos

love is losing

Empire, replete with its trappings of fear, control, and cruelty

Is winning

 

My soul is assailed by evil and greed

By the callous disregard for people

That tears at the very fabric of who I am

 

I move from anger to disgust

From fear to (yes, I admit it) hate

From shock to sadness to profound grief

 

It is bad enough that people in power abuse it

That people with privilege exploit it

It is bad enough that people do ungodly things

In the name of God

 

But what shatters me is that so many do not care

 

I wonder if this is how the disciples felt that Saturday morning

After it was all over

after the political and religious systems

did their thing

 

and killed love

hung compassion on a cross

 

what must it have been like to sit there in that upper room

where only days before

the space had echoed with laughter

and bread was broken

and a cup passed round, again and again

 

what must it have been like to sit there

your heart ripped from your body

while outside

the Roman soldiers prowl and harass

and the people of Jerusalem

simply open their shops

buy their groceries

 

and go about their day

as if nothing has happened?

 

As the people walk the street, cowed and silenced by the soldiers

a conquered people who have capitulated to power

and live in fear

 

it feels so hopeless

I feel so helpless

As if there is nothing I can do

 

But I cannot just sit here

hoping it will all go away

hoping that people will wake up to the Sacred

hoping against hope

 

I know there are no easy answers

I know that Sacred seems distant and unconcerned

and lament is now a way of life

 

But still, I must stand

And I must go through each day

Left foot,

Right foot

Left foot breathe

 

Trusting in the Sacred,

Trusting God, GodWithUs, GodInUs

 

Trusting enough to leave those places of safety

to stand in the street, facing the fierce gusts of hate

and speak about justice, as justice is denied

and when those with power us it hatefully

live love

 

I must stand, because I know, on this Saturday

Something the disciples did not know, yet

 

I know about the resurrection

I know what God did

And I know

What God can do

 

And so I sit

But not for long