On Saying the Creed

I believe …

And believing,

I stand together with the company of saints

Knit together, woven by his grace,

Across centuries and continents.

I stand with the martyrs

Of every generation;

The ones who strode,

And the ones who fumbled.

I stand with the clear-eyed,

Theologians and philosophers,

Who gazed into the deep places

And saw more than their own reflection;

And with those who could only mumble hopefully,

Choosing to believe that the mystery was real.

I stand with those who argued deeply,

Trying to decipher how it works,

Sometimes forgetting this, their common ground;

And with those who would rather reach out dusty hands

For the work that must be done.

I stand with the loved and the unloved,

The feeble and the fainting,

The highly valued and the overlooked,

All borne to the same shore.

They all crowd together,

Every nation, every language,

Linked in a mighty shout

That neither death nor hell can silence,

The word that undoes man’s kingdoms:

I believe …

We understand

As our frail crafts spin on roaring seas of doubt,

Tossed by the world’s winds’ sneering,

Our masts bent to a question mark,

That a nail-scarred hand holds the tiller,

And he shall steer us home.

Yes, I believe!

Ash Wednesday 2019

Down the feathers fall

Petals drift lazy with no wind to stir

And we hear again the silence under chatter.

Was it for this he came,

To the stringent places

Straightjacket of the heart

More sere and lonely than the curlew’s call?

Was it for this he came,

Down beyond our measure

Feeling the air grow thick,

And tasting death all the way?

Was it for this he came,

For stuttered hymns

From dry, bruised lips;

Why would he choose our pale, dead words

Above the angels’ alleluias?

Was it for this he came

To the straitened place and time

The wilderness of wanting,

He who had nothing to repent?

Was it for this he came,

Was it for me;

The passion and the agony

That these dry bones might live?

When love became a solid thing

The earth could not bear his weight.

The Preacher

I have been poured like water,

My words gush forth like wine

Till the heart is sere and bloodless,

And my tears are pickling brine.

I breathe air thin and daunting

A higher altitude

As I strain my understanding

And my vision is renewed.

This is my price-of-paying

Hid from the eyes of all,

Love’s thorns pressed on my forehead,

Till my pride tastes like gall.

Not with the easy answers

Not with the slick reply;

Down like a rock in the ocean,

Never to come up dry.

Straight past the shallow places

Down to the beating heart,

Where a seabed like Procrustes’

Reshapes my every part.

Then, with lips blue and stumbling,

How shall speak the way

To that place I have no name for,

Where love burns bright as day?

Yet I rejoice to be there

Assumptions all unmade

By his scarred hand held tightly:

Broken yet unafraid

The Joy of Randomness

Picture a pillow or picture a peacock,

Picture a rainbow in splendid array;

Picture, ah, picture, the smile on a strawberry,

Or the sweet moment when night turns to day.

Picture the willows bent down to the water,

Picture the sun dancing bright on the wave

Picture (oh fancy it!) bluebells and unicorns,

Or the dear comforts that make you feel brave.

Picture whatever, whoever, wherever

Picture with glee and a smile of surprise

All of the world for your heart’s exploration

Imagination and wide open eyes.

Picture a squirrel or picture a penguin

Picture a ship or a soft, rain-soaked day

Freedom to wonder and let the mind wander

Into sweet meadows where young moonbeams play.

So much, so much to enjoy and give thanks for

Wise hearts can hold a continuous feast

Gladly embracing the glory and beauty:

Seen and acknowledged, enjoyed and released.

Picture a heart that’s content in amazement

Taking each thing as a gift and delight.

Picture the joy that will come in the morning:

Tears wiped away and our faith turned to sight.

Sometimes You Just Know

Sometimes you just know.

In the still small twilight,

In the whisper of the stars,

In the rippling of water

And the soft caress of rain,

You know.

Sometimes you just know.

In the touch of a child’s finger,

The confiding of their smile,

In the tears that wreath our gratitude

And the laughter of our freedom,

You know.

Sometimes you just know.

When the thunder shakes your mettle

And the rainbow lifts the sky,

When the wanting is too dreadful

And the tongue runs out of words,

You know.

Sometimes you just know.

In the silence past the violence,

In the courage to go on,

In the prayer that changes all things

And the hope that weaves the world,

You know.

Sometimes you just know.

If the Faith is Anything

If the faith is anything

It must be everything

Without the centre

We are hollow as a sounding gong.

If the faith is anything

It must be more

Than the skim of sunlight on the water

Dulled by a passing cloud.

It must be more

Than rigmarole and ritual

And occasional appeasement.

It must be more.

If the faith is anything

It should transcend

Our careless little thinking

And entitled boredom.

It should transcend

Our moderated dreams

And the hopes this world can give.

It should transcend.

If the faith is anything

It must embrace

Height, depth, length, breadth

And every nuance

Of sweet and sour in the life we live.

It must embrace

Mystery and certainty,

Grief and joy-gone-dancing.

It must embrace.

If the faith is anything

It must be everything

Or it is nothing

Just a rumour on the wind.

And let our cry come unto you.

I am a Broken Pot

I am a broken pot.

You pour your water in.

And straightway it leaks out,

And yet it washes sin:

A broken vessel I,

A cymbal made of tin.

I am a scattered seed

That falls on troubled ground:

The strange dark winds of life

Have turned me all around.

Yet, since your grace rains down,

Some root, some foothold found.

I am a sheep confused.

I go my baa-ing way,

Deaf to the shepherd’s voice,

Unwittingly I stray.

Yet, in some unmarked field,

Yourself became my way.

I am the parable

Of every undone thing:

I have no voice of praise

Till you teach me to sing;

Yet, in your lightest word,

I find my everything.