Archive for the ‘Prayer’ Category

For me, the past weekend was a time of family celebrations and road-tripping across Washington. Thus, I was only briefly aware of the murders in Orlando, and haven’t had time to sit with the reality of it until today.

Because I was away, I was didn’t have the responsibility in worship yesterday morning to put it all together, do instant theology, make quick sense. I didn’t have opportunity to write post a statement on Facebook, or to read more than a very few. I watched very little news. I’m blessed to have been prevented from rushing to righteous anger and self-righteous posturing. (My anger and posturing are mellowed 36 hours to perfection?)

But more than ever, I am feeling the emptiness of those pat statements we make, things like “Our thoughts and prayers are with … .” Especially the statements by politicians, but also by preachers, and other partners in faith communities. (more…)

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Turn, turn

Labyrinth at Franciscan Retreat Center, Scottsdale, AZI really like those blasts from our pasts that Facebook invites us to share. This is the labyrinth at the Franciscan Renewal Center in (of all incongruous places) Scottsdale, Arizona. Facebook reminded me that I was there for an Alban Institute training five years ago.

I tend to walk labyrinths, and other paths of prayer, barefoot. It helps ground me. It slows me down. There’s a sole / soul connection.

Sometimes it hurts. The Scottsdale sand is hard packed, coarse-grained, just a bit painful on my usually-protected feet — but Ah! there were fresh hoofprints that morning. (Deer? Javelina!)
(The labyrinth at the Whidbey Institute, by contrast, is worn into a grass lawn, and when I walked it, was deliciously cool, damp soil.)

A bit of Hopkins’ sonnet, “God’s Grandeur,” speaks of the degradation of earth by our action, and our alienation from earth:

“The soil is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.”

And then comes the poem’s turning point.

Taking off my shoes, becoming re-grounded, is a turning point.
Walking the labyrinth is an exercise in turning.
The lines that follow are after the turning point of the poem.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Hopkins could sense this in the 1800s. Perhaps we will too, when we take off our shoes, and turn.

*Maybe this post sounds extra-familiar to you. I wrote it for Facebook on Nov. 17. It’s more a blog post than a Facebook post, though, don’t you think?

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Pure Praise

I’m beginning to work my way through Laurence Hull Stookey’s book, Let the Whole Church Say Amen! a Guide for Those Who Pray in Public. It’s a basic text for anybody who leads worship — whether pastor or lay speaker or liturgist or small-group leader —  well, when you get right down to it, anybody who prays aloud in a group, especially as a leader of a group’s prayer.

It’s a workbook; most chapters have exercises. I’m leaving it blank, though, so that I can loan it out to whoever wants to borrow it. (Let me know if you want to borrow it.)

I’ll be using this blog to share what I’ve written as I go along, both prayer and reflections. If it’s useful to you, either directly, or as food-for-thought that leads you in different directions from my own, I’m thankful.

The first chapter is “Pure Praise.”


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