Holy God, you bring the sun to its rising with no help from us. The birds begin their songs the rivers run without any command or assistance from our hands. The dew will dissipate breezes will arrive and just as easily disappear. We created nothing; you established all. We humble ourselves before you and all that you created. We praise you and thank you for all you have established. Let our breath be drawn from yours Let our steps be ordered by your grace Take the work of our bodies and minds; it belongs to you. Please bless whatever we offer. Take the cares and burdens of our spirits; they are too heavy. Bring peace where the deepest wounds and sorrows have lingered too long. May your wisdom that created this day guide our lives through the hours with safety, with love, and your mercy that is offered to us new every morning. By your Spirit, may the moments we live today bring honor and glory to you. What joy we have to live in your presence today! Amen.
The weather icon cautions me that fog awaits the day and I know instinctively it is good. Low visibility reminds me that God still sees the long view. I learned it several years ago from my neighbor in the country. “We know the sun is rising even though we can’t see it.” She loved to say it; it was a mantra for her and it became one for me. We are people that need to be reminded!
I ran to see the fog and was shocked to see the sun piercing through the shroud as if to say:
I’ve changed my mind. The fog will not linger. The lift is now. Caution is replaced with courage. Clouds are being swept away.
It happens like that sometimes. Life does. A solution emerges with the same immediate announcement of a light bulb in a pitch black room. Or that subtle inching, nudging….even squeezing into our lives like a little whisper that persists until it is shaping us into a way of being we didn’t see coming.
The fog is a friend when it comes. Reminding us in ways we can experience. Slow down and pay attention. Take a breath. Remember that the sun has not been taken away. We are being shielded while new light, new voices, and new revelation are being formed. Welcome the day; it is the careful provision of our Creator.
Sunrise – June 4, 2021
God, thank you forbeing in the fog with us and never losing sight of the long view. We welcome your new day! We love you and trust you. Amen.
The joy of the birds must be exuberant. A morning song of certainty that every rising of the sun holds new life. I was walking to the river as the birds made their melodies, and my neighbors were ahead of me. You know – the people we call “neighbors” but I really do not know them yet at all. I’m exercising; they are appreciating the gift of the day, a centering perhaps. My gym shorts feel a bit informal in contrast to their flowing garments in all colors of the rainbow. We are all as we are; it’s Monday.
My neighbors pause at the river, as I will. We pass one another there and I utter the only greeting I can say without thinking, “Namaskar”. I only know it because of the grace of my other neighbor who taught me how to say something in addition to “Namaste”. The greeting is a little awkward; unexpected, I think. We don’t know each other.
The river is quiet, and someone is already fishing. I offer gratitude for the grace of a morning walk, for the songs of birds and the dance of the river. My heart could stay a while, but my head moves me along. It’s Monday.
The route home brings our paths together again. “Namaskar” my mouth speaks and my spirit, by now, has been seen. “Namaskar!” they greet me. The smiles and joyful words I do not understand tell me: all is well. We have a small conversation where it is clear I do not know the language. Their English helps us along, but is limited.
We learn one another’s names. Well, we learn them for a moment. I suspect we will have to learn them again and again! The humility of grace is that today we could see one another, and it was enough. Actually, it was more than enough. Peace and gratitude are flowing, and the day has barely begun.
Prayer God thank you for the community you are creating wherever we are this week. Whether we meet in person or in prayer; on the street or in our homes – help us to see each other and your presence among us. We humbly and boldly ask for the presence of your Holy Spirit to guide us through this day. Like the birds, help us to sing with joy. And give us courage, Lord, to dance when we are invited.
Lord help us hold the tension today where hope and despair run parallel. Help us grieve with those who approach gravesides and celebrate with all who receive news of relief and joy. Give us courage to be in the waiting; the tension of uncertainty and the anticipation that you might do something – say something – or reveal something we didn’t expect, today.
We live in a world of violence. Violence that condemns others, and a violence against our own selves. It doesn’t come from weapons we make; this comes from what it is deep within our hearts. Many of our hearts are broken.
Help us hold the tension of Maundy Thursday, where hope and despair run parallel. Allow us courage enough to come to the table, and humility enough to stay with you and with each other. Thank you for inviting us to stumble in with dirty, tired feet; hopes and dreams; unanswered questions; denial; masks and even love. There will be tension, so help us hold steady and not run away from you, today.
Amen.
Carpet in Guatemala. Semana Santa, 2017.
If you are looking for ways to experience a Maundy Thursday service tonight, here is a link: https://live.franklinfumc.org
Life in the Deep End 