Category Archives: Liturgical

Ash Wednesday 2015

One Wednesday when the world is grey

And the wind is calling

We leave the covers and the bed,

To let the wind come in.

 

For ancient reasons, half-believed

We trade the warm indoors

For the howl and the flying snow.

To be clothed by the gale.

 

We go forth in just these bodies

too fat, too thin, too old

Calling with our mouths full of dust

And our eyes full of ash.

 

The wind blows where it pleases, and

It tears our shrouds away

Until we see what we’ve become

Beneath our winter things.

 

Now forty days is far too long

To live so, in winter

So they bury empty caskets

And give our things away.

 

Till one Sunday when spring has come

They find us on the porch

Fast asleep, finely dressed, faces

Full forgotten by Death.


Advent 2018

Sing a song of solstice

Sing a song of SAD

Sing a song of darkness

And the night we’ve had.

 

Sing a song of empire

Sing the poor man’s song

Sing a song with those who’ve

Sung it all along.

 

Sing a song of hunger

Sing a song of want

Sing a song of wandering

Sing, and let it haunt.

 

Sing of a song of dissonance

Of what is and what should be.

Sing a song of longing

For the end of entropy.

 

Sing a song of Advent,

Of waiting in the dark,

Sing a song of Eschaton

For those with ears to hark.


Christmas 2018

It came out of the longest night

When we were full of fear

Riding flame and feathers out of

The dark end of the year.

 

It could have come with fury, come

Down like a hammer blow

But it came in like a carol

And landed like the snow.

 

It could have come bearing judgment

The sword upon the wing

But it came instead with music,

And news that made it sing:

 

That our weeping was not wasted

That all our cries were heard

That the wandering of our planet

Had been towards somewhere good.

 

That the oldest war was ending,

The dreams were coming true

Of peace between earth and heaven,

Peace between God and you.


On The Last Day Of The Year

Jesus come and find me

On the last day of the year

Ragged, worn, tattered, torn

Older now, and full of fear.

 

Still the racing of my thoughts

Ease the terrors of my heart

That have hunted, haunted me

To the ending from the start.

 

Come and count my hairs again

Count the bones beneath my skin

And knit me back together

Where the seams are opening.

 

Jesus come and find me

And make your dwelling here

In the empty place carved out

By the passage of the year.


Easter 2016

Rise up, oh Christ

In the middle of my days

Rise up from where I buried you

And break the strata of the year.

 

Crack the easy hills

End all my neat topography

They are made green and fertile

By what is buried underneath.

 

Wipe away my careful maps

The lines that mark false nations

With invented histories

And names that mean nothing.

 

Rise up, oh Christ,

And cast me from my throne

Break the earth in seven pieces

And leave not a one for me.

 

For when my world is ended

And the king in me is dead

I would have nothing for my portion

But my hand held in yours.


Good Friday 2014

It was the day of the hammer

The day of the nail

It was the day of the storm

And of the earthquake

 

For how could the earth

Not shudder and crack

With the blood of its maker

Spilled upon it?

 

And we huddled in our homes

Beneath the bruise-black sky

And waited for creation

To burn us for blasphemy

 

And the earth did open

Beneath we, the accursed

But out of the depths

Came not fire, or water

 

But our beloved, who were dead

Now quickened,

And laughing

And running to embrace us.


Thanksgiving 2018

For the shape that things have taken
For the bending of our days
From the place we were forsaken
To the place our heads are laid

For what all the ravens brought
For the bread that wouldn’t last
For the water from the rock
For the wandering that’s passed

For the scroll that tasted sweet
Then turned to sour halfway down
For how we are made complete
By being buried, burnt, or drowned

For a tale we couldn’t write
The verse we can’t compose
For a love we couldn’t fight
For however this thing goes,

We give you thanks, oh Lord.


Maranatha In November

There is a gun in every hand

And a knife to every throat

And murder sleeps in every heart

From Adam to my infant son.

 

Come, Lord, quickly to your children

You, the bearer of all grief

Who has breathed and borne and buried

Every daughter, every son.

 

Call us by our secret names

In the dark behind ourselves

Kill us lest we kill each other

And raise us from our death.


Casa Padre

I hear the children of the earth
Call out for their Father
For the fathers of the earth
Are not what they should be.

Come back to your Father
Oh you fathers of the earth
Let Him teach you once again
What it means to be a child.


Advent 2018

Sing a song of solstice

Sing a song of SAD

Sing a song of darkness

And the night we’ve had.

 

Sing a song of empire

Sing the poor man’s song

Sing a song with those who’ve

Sung it all along.

 

Sing a song of hunger

Sing a song of want

Sing a song of wandering

Sing, and let it haunt.

 

Sing of a song of dissonance

Of what is and what should be.

Sing a song of longing

For the end of entropy.

 

Sing a song of Advent,

Of waiting in the dark,

Sing a song of Eschaton

For those with ears to hark.