Questions and Faith

Habakkuk 2:1-3

Compassionate One,

I remember a book title I once read: Swift, Lord, You are Not.

I hear your call to wait, to trust,

yet as I watch a nation’s heart turn to stone

I wonder when the tide will turn.

How many more children will come home to find their parents taken away?

How many creatures have to die before we realize our dependence on clean air and water?

How many people will be attacked and killed before we realize that killing others doesn’t allay our fear?

As the fist of power squeezes tighter,

how many more will be crushed by its greed, its hate, its oppression?

God of the ages, help me to take the long view—

to remember that empires fall when power corrupts,

to see that plants grow from the decay and rot of what has died,

to look at you on a cross and to see the empty tomb beyond.

Evil may seem strong, but you are stronger,

though your way is not the way of the world.

You who are the way, the truth and the life,

may we know that your way is power in powerlessness,

your way is strength in weakness,

your way is nonretaliation to violence,

your way is resurrection through death.

So I will trust;

I will do what is mine to do;

I will not let my heart turn to stone.

I know you will take small acts of faithfulness

and multiply it many times over.

Home

John 1:1-5, 14a

Home—not a building, but

relationship. You made your

home among us. Though you had

no place to lay your head,

you were at home with us.

Home, likewise, is for me relationship,

for when I had no place to rest

I found my home in you.

Pieces

Ecclesiastes 3:1-20

My life—a jigsaw puzzle,

each piece necessary, but alone

lending no clue to the larger picture

and no box to guide toward completion.

Some pieces that appear to go together

don’t. Unlikely combinations surprise me.

Yet each piece a season, an event—some light,

some dark, but all unite,

making whole. Hope is learning to see

as the Puzzle-Maker sees, the

Imago Dei scattered across the table,

slowly coming into view as I connect

each piece. To see myself

fully human, fully

beloved when the image is not

what I imagined it would be—this

is the key to working

without a box, the key to

becoming whole.

Be Still

Psalm 46

When all around me shakes,

keep me, hold me that I may be

unshaken in your hands,

able to see with nonanxious

clearness, with steady heart

that you are God

and I am not, so I can

be still in my soul.

Confession

Isaiah 40

God, whose way leads through

wilderness, whose desert path

uproots us out of ordinary time,

forgive us when we choose

complacency over change,

ease over transformation,

numbness over attentiveness.

We prefer the false security of

easy answers, blame and prejudice

rather than the disciplines of

understanding, patience and

accountability.

Hold us in the desert long enough

to clear our vision, change our hearts,

gentle our judgments.

Hold us accountable even as you

hold us in your hand.

Flatten our mountains of pride.

Raise the ones we have despised.

Make our desert sojourn fruitful—

harsh enough to soften us, to turn

us to you in utter dependency,

so we will know that you show

your power in gentleness,

your strength in compassion,

your greatness in proximity.

Ashes and Fire

Ephesians 6:10-18

Yesterday’s ashes, washed from my forehead

mark my heart, reminding me that your

refining fire, not chosen by me, compels me choose to

die to self. Flaming arrows of the evil one launched

against me call me to trust not in my strength

but in yours alone.

My ash-marked heart is yours, Most Loving One.

My soul sings of your justice and mercy, inseparable,

one from the other.

I stand by your power, not my own.

I stand in your purifying love.

I stand because of you.

I stand.

Lenten Prayers

This Lent, I am working through a book entitled Writing to God: 40 Days of Praying With my Pen. Each day, I am given a scripture, and then am invited to write a prayer. I'll be posting many, if not all, of my prayers here as time and internet access permit.

I pray for you a meaningful Lenten journey.

Ash Wednesday

Ezekiel 37:1-3

The valley, bowl of bones

prompts tears. I see

my life scattered there,

chipped, broken, dry.

How did I survive?

Harsh sun beat down

severe, unyielding.

Looking closer I see

ground beneath watered by

unseen Source, soaking,

seeping up, easing the dryness,

cupping the brokenness,

soothing, sustaining, shielding.

Can these bones live? Ah,

already they are coming to life!