Marked by Ashes

Ruler of the Night, Guarantor of the day . . .
This day — a gift from you.
This day — like none other you have ever given, or we have ever received.
This Wednesday dazzles us with gift and newness and possibility.
This Wednesday burdens us with the tasks of the day, for we are already halfway home
     halfway back to committees and memos,
     halfway back to calls and appointments,
     halfway on to next Sunday,
     halfway back, half frazzled, half expectant,
     half turned toward you, half rather not.

This Wednesday is a long way from Ash Wednesday,
   but all our Wednesdays are marked by ashes —
     we begin this day with that taste of ash in our mouth:
       of failed hope and broken promises,
       of forgotten children and frightened women,
     we ourselves are ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
     we can taste our mortality as we roll the ash around on our tongues.

We are able to ponder our ashness with
   some confidence, only because our every Wednesday of ashes
   anticipates your Easter victory over that dry, flaky taste of death.

On this Wednesday, we submit our ashen way to you —
   You Easter parade of newness.
   Before the sun sets, take our Wednesday and Easter us,
     Easter us to joy and energy and courage and freedom;
     Easter us that we may be fearless for your truth.
   Come here and Easter our Wednesday with
     mercy and justice and peace and generosity.

We pray as we wait for the Risen One who comes soon.

Walter Brueggemann (b. 1933)
Taken from his Prayers for a Privileged People (Nashville: Abingdon, 2008), pp. 27-28.

Desert Prayer

Jan Richardson- Painted Prayerbook.com

I am not asking you

to take this wilderness from me,

to remove this place of starkness

where I come to know

the wildness within me,

where I learn to call the names

of the ravenous beasts

that pace inside me,

to finger the brambles

that snake through my veins,

to taste the thirst

that tugs at my tongue.

But send me

tough angels,

sweet wine,

strong bread:

just enough.

American Christmas Card 2004

I met a man in Nigeria years ago,

an Ibo,

who said he had three hundred relatives

he knew by name.

His wife had just had a baby.

They were going to take it 

on foot

to be welcomed and marveled at

by as many of those relatives

as they could find,

even though

there was a war going on.

Wouldn’t you love to have been

such a famous baby?

I wish I could wave a magic wand

this Christmas,

and give every desperately lonesome

and hungry and lost American

man, woman, or child

the love and comfort and support

of an extended family.

Just two people and a babe in the manger,

given a heartless Government, 

is no survival scheme.

Kurt Vonnegut