An Irish Blessing

May God give you...
For every storm, a rainbow,
For every tear, a smile,
For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.

When Will This Service End?

“For we are co-workers in God’s service”

1 Corinthians 3:9

After confessing our faults,
Singing His praises,
Hearing His Word,
Eating the bread,
Drinking from the cup,
The final Amen is said.

Not signifying the
end of the worship
but
the beginning of
our service
in our homes,
at work,
in the marketplace,
and in the world,
for another week
of our lives
on earth.

The Prodigal People

At the beginning of the story
God calls a nation together
Frees them from bondage
and saves them from recapture.
But after awhile
They replace their God with the culture’s gods.
God is heartbroken
and wishes they would come to their senses.


Then later on
God calls a church together.
Frees them from the bondage of sin and death,
and saves them with the indwelling of His Spirit.
But after awhile
They replace their God with the culture’s gods.
God is heartbroken
and wishes they would come to their senses.

At the end of the story
God sends for those who were faithful.
Frees them from those who ridicule their uniqueness,
and saves them by being forever present in their lives.
But God is still heartbroken
for those who never came to their senses.

Ash Wednesday (2011)

After I receive the black stamp of repentance,
I sense His presence
as He asks me to go with Him
in the wilderness.
To sacrifice,
to pray,
to learn,
to love,
and to practice the art He has perfected -
Resurrection.

i am a little church

i am a little church (no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth’s own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying) children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection;
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope, and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains
i am a little church (far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish) at peace with nature
i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring, i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever;
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)

e.e cummings 1958