- Acts 5: 12-16
- Psalm 118: 2-4, 13-15, 22-24
- Revelations 1: 9-11a, 12-13, 17-19
- John 20: 19-31
- Keeping the faith
- We make fun of the question "what would Jesus do?" but I have to believe that very thought ran through the minds of those first generation Christians a great deal.
- Does that question always have an answer?
- Is the answer to that question going to be the same through time, or does that answer evolve through the generations?
- How do we know what Jesus would really do in a set of circumstances?
- Being the mercy of Christ
- If God has made this day, what did He make it for?
- One of my favorite Poets is David Whyte. He has a poem called Everything is Waiting for You that he reads at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hq2NfrNt9EU.
- How can we better step into this day, this moment, and not only make it ours, but give ourselves utterly and ineffably over to this very day?
- Forever is a long time
- John was exiled to Patmos to remove him from the mainstream, cut him off from civilization, yet he felt a unity with the believers under persecution.
- How is such oneness possible, even without Facebook?
- What does that sort of oneness cost us as individuals?
- Is it worth it?
- Peace give I to thee
- What is peace?
- When was the last time that you felt at peace?
- Do you think that it's totally random, or is there a way to achieve a deep peace?
- Do you think that peace is the absence of disturbance in our lives, or something deeper?
- What is peace worth to you?
- What about my life would ever draw another to God?
- How have I been the mercy of God to another this week?
- Where am I finding myself these days, and where have I been looking?
- What am I hiding from of late?
Why am I Still Here?
is a question for the living when they lose a dear loved one.
When an emotional amputation, unheralded, unsought for
Rips away a part of your soul from you, the best part perhaps,
And leaves you there, disfigured and dying, looking just the same.
I've never found a satisfactory answer to that question,
But I've learned to let it teach me things along the way.
I've apprenticed myself to it to see what I could learn
From profound emptiness, silence, and stillness.
I've learned that life is precious, privileged and precarious.
Precious in that this moment will never occur again for all time.
Privileged because it will never be better than this, only different.
Precarious precisely because it's so easy to live on the surface.
I've wondered, if I had the ability to stop time, just once,
Which moment would I hang onto, immortalize which second?
And I gradually came to realize that each moment grows
From the ashes of the ones before it, so that the future may flourish.
To clutch at a given season, drag the present with me into tomorrow
Is to take a swan from water, send it waddling awkwardly ashore
When it instinctively knows that its element is the water that bears it.
Each moment finds its fulfillment in dissolving into the next.
Absence has challenged me to savor presence, to be present
To listen, to ponder, and to share with others.
Not to try to recreate what has come and gone,
But to learn from it, to grow, to meet today head on.
Knowing full well from whence I came, and in that knowing
Be able to listen for the emerging mission, the new horizons
Opening before me as I speak them into being.
Maranatha!
When an emotional amputation, unheralded, unsought for
Rips away a part of your soul from you, the best part perhaps,
And leaves you there, disfigured and dying, looking just the same.
I've never found a satisfactory answer to that question,
But I've learned to let it teach me things along the way.
I've apprenticed myself to it to see what I could learn
From profound emptiness, silence, and stillness.
I've learned that life is precious, privileged and precarious.
Precious in that this moment will never occur again for all time.
Privileged because it will never be better than this, only different.
Precarious precisely because it's so easy to live on the surface.
I've wondered, if I had the ability to stop time, just once,
Which moment would I hang onto, immortalize which second?
And I gradually came to realize that each moment grows
From the ashes of the ones before it, so that the future may flourish.
To clutch at a given season, drag the present with me into tomorrow
Is to take a swan from water, send it waddling awkwardly ashore
When it instinctively knows that its element is the water that bears it.
Each moment finds its fulfillment in dissolving into the next.
Absence has challenged me to savor presence, to be present
To listen, to ponder, and to share with others.
Not to try to recreate what has come and gone,
But to learn from it, to grow, to meet today head on.
Knowing full well from whence I came, and in that knowing
Be able to listen for the emerging mission, the new horizons
Opening before me as I speak them into being.
Maranatha!
Shalom!