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~ Reflections of a preacher, poet, and contemplative activist

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Category Archives: Reflections

Now the Work of Christmas Begins

31 Tuesday Dec 2024

Posted by mark lloyd richardson in Blessings, Justice, Poems, Reflections

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Bible, blessing, caring, Christmas, compassion, creation, Divine presence, eternal Christ presence, God, grief, incarnation, Jesus, justice, peace, truth

Frosted blue spruce tree.

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of traveling back to Santa Barbara and presenting some reflections on Christmas to an ecumenical Christian group. The title of my presentation was:

The Word Becomes Flesh: Christmas as a Holy Invitation to Incarnational Living

     It’s always good to begin with a story, so here’s one that’s been around:

     Excited about Christmas, a little boy was finishing a letter to Santa with a list of the Christmas presents he badly wanted. And then, just to make sure he had covered all of his bases, he decided to send his Christmas wish list to Jesus as well. The letter to Jesus began, “Dear Jesus, I just want you to know that I’ve been good for six months now.” Then it occurred to him that Jesus knew this wasn’t true.

     After a moment’s reflection, he crossed out “six months” and wrote “three months.” He thought some more, then crossed out “months” and replaced it with “weeks.” “I’ve been good for three weeks,” his letter now read. Realizing Jesus knew better than this, he put down his paper, went over to the Nativity set sitting on a table in his home, and picked up the figure of Mary. He then took out a clean piece of paper and began to write another letter: “Dear Jesus, if you ever want to see your mother again …”[i]

     The Word Becomes Flesh: Christmas as a Holy Invitation to Incarnational Living

     I titled my presentation before I really knew what I would say – I only knew that I wanted to reflect on what Christmas means to me. I’ve always thought of Christmas as an invitation – an invitation to more fully understand God’s deepest dreams for our lives and our world, that we might become more fully human and reflect the divine image within us, embracing just how unconditionally loved and accepted we are. Jesus is the exemplar of what it means to live a vibrant human life deeply connected to the Source of Life … the Divine Center! 

     Christmas is a season of special significance for those of us who follow the Christ of the Gospel. It is a season that brings to fulfillment the promises God made to humankind from the very beginning – that God comes near to us when our hearts are open and attuned to the Divine Presence. In the fullness of time, Jesus came near to us in human flesh and lived among us as the very revelation of God’s love, grace and peace. This Jesus of history becomes for those of us who believe the Christ of faith. 

     In Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth, he quotes the prophet Isaiah, saying, “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” (Matt. 1:23) We use the word Incarnation to describe what we believe God has done – in God’s child Jesus the divine Word “becomes flesh.” It’s like having all the promises of scripture revealed in the clearest possible fashion as God is enfleshed in the Human One, Jesus of Nazareth.

     How this happens remains a mystery, and I won’t try to further explain it. Rather I want to spend the next 20 minutes talking about why God would come to us in Jesus and what this incredible gift of Divine Life among us might mean for the ways we choose to live in this world!

     As we approach Christmas, I encourage you to see this season as a holy invitation to incarnational living! As you contemplate the mystery of Emmanuel, “God with us,” in the days ahead, I hope you will begin to more fully celebrate all the ways you already believe that to be true – where you notice the nudges of the Holy in your life, where you experience God moments, where you glimpse the Sacred amid the ordinary moments of life, and where Grace becomes especially real and transparent to you as you move through each day. 

     Those of you who know me, know that I include poetry in just about anything I do, since the language of poetry is especially suited to convey mystery.

     So, because we are in the season of Advent, we begin with a portion of a poem by Ann Weems, called “In Search of Our Kneeling Places”

In each heart lies a Bethlehem,
    an inn where we must ultimately answer
         whether there is room or not.
When we are Bethlehem-bound
    we experience our own advent in his. …
This Advent let’s go to Bethlehem
    and see this thing that the Lord has made known to us.
In the midst of shopping sprees
    let’s ponder in our hearts the Gift of Gifts. …
In the excitement and confusion, in the merry chaos,
    let’s listen for the brush of angels’ wings.
This Advent, let’s go to Bethlehem
    and find our kneeling place.[ii]

     We only begin to appreciate the Incarnation when we approach it from a place of awe as we kneel in wonder, prayer, and praise!

     The life of a Christian is by definition a life that seeks to follow the Christ, and this act of following begins in adoration. So we need to find our kneeling place each morning as we set out on the journey of faith.

     If the birth of the Christ child prompts within us a holy invitation to take up lives that incarnate the love of God, it’s wise to take some time to reflect more fully on how this kind of incarnational living is embodied or comes alive in us. 

I want to suggest three possible ways of living incarnationally. They are, of course, not the only ways, just a start!

  1. Incarnational living means recognizing the Divine Presence in all of creation, including you and me.

     Richard Rohr – Franciscan priest, author, and teacher – whose work is grounded in practices of contemplation and compassion for the marginalized, writes that “the core message of the incarnation of God in Jesus is that the Divine Presence is here, in us and in all of creation, and not only ‘over there’ in some far-off realm.”[iii]

     In 2 Peter 1:4, we read that God “has given us something very great and wonderful … we are able to share the divine nature!” Or, as The Message paraphrases this verse: “We were … given absolutely terrific promises to pass on to you—your tickets to participation in the life of God…”

      So, the Divine Presence – the eternal Christ presence – is here in this place, in each one of us, and in all creation. There is a Life at the heart of all life that is holy. There is an essential interrelatedness in all that lives within God’s good creation. We are able to link our lives with the Divine Life. This is an amazing truth to contemplate, because it means that wherever we go the Divine Presence – the eternal Christ presence – is already there, and whatever we do we are potentially participating in the life of God.

      I like how one modern-day teacher of Celtic wisdom, John Philip Newell, calls us to practice sacred imagination in our day. He believes that for the sake of our world we need “to truly wake up to the sacredness of the earth and every human being and do what we can to serve this sacredness in one another and the creatures” of this earth. He says we need “a consciousness of soul” to wake up to the sacred interrelationship of all things, “a strength of soul” to commit to live in accordance with this interrelationship, and “a beauty of soul” to be willing to serve this oneness with love, even at the cost of sacrifice.[iv]

      So, in saying that incarnational living has to do with recognizing the Divine Presence in all of creation, we are saying that the gift of Christmas is that it invites us to expand our narrow vision of who and where God is. Jesus comes to help us see with compassionate eyes the whole world – a creation deeply and eternally loved by God! Christ is present among us to help us see how our lives are lovingly interconnected with all life on this swirling planet we call home!

II. Incarnational living means exercising your capacity for blessing.

         You are an instrument of blessing from the very heart of God, for blessing is God’s incarnate love unleashed on the world. Think of Jesus blessing the disciples and commissioning them to go out and bless all they meet, even those who mean them harm (Luke 6:27-31). “Do to others as you would have them do to you,” Jesus commands. “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

          Blessing is a commitment to truly seeing others. Has anyone ever said to you that they feel seen by you? Seeing someone as the unique person they are is an essential first step in blessing them. 

          Blessing literally means “to speak well of someone,”[v] and Jesus instructs us to do so whether that person is a friend, a stranger, or an enemy. Blessing is a way of communicating the amazing grace of God who pours out grace upon grace in our lives! “Life itself is grace,” Frederick Buechner likes to say. It is a “fathomless mystery.”[vi] So we need to listen with care to our own lives and to the lives of others as well.

          “Listening is a form of worship,” says poet James Crew, “but you don’t have to kneel / on the floor with folded hands / or mouth the perfect prayer. / Just open the door of yourself / to another, become the space / they step through to show you / who they are. This is holiness: / two people seated together / on the pew of a park bench, / at the altar of a kitchen table. / Even if no one says a word / for a while, receive the silence / until it’s like a language / only the two of you can speak.”[vii]

          Blessing is our gift to the world. We bless others by seeing them, by listening to their lives with them, and by giving away some of our own life so that they can experience more life.

          Ronald Rolheiser compares the act of blessing to “a blessing grandmother or a blessing grandfather, not suffering but joyful, smiling and beaming with pride at the life and energy of the young, basking in that energy and radiating from every pore of his or her being the words of the Creator: ‘It is good! Indeed, it is very good! In you I take delight!’”[viii]

          Still, blessing takes different forms at different times. When someone is grieving a deep loss in life, blessing needs to be filled with compassion. When my wife Dallis died four years ago, the book of blessings for times of grief written by Jan Richardson consoled me. Here’s one of her blessings, written following the death of her husband Gary, that may help you understand better the gift of blessing you have to offer someone as they wade through the troubled waters of grief. 

    The Blessing You Should Not Tell Me[ix]

    Do not tell me 
    there will be a blessing
    in the breaking,
    that it will ever
    be a grace
    to wake into this life
    so altered,
    this world
    so without.

    Do not tell me
    of the blessing
    that will come
    in the absence.

    Do not tell me
    that what does not
    kill me
    will make me strong
    or that God will not 
    send me more than I
    can bear.

    Do not tell me
    this will make me
    more compassionate,
    more loving,
    more holy.

    Do not tell me
    this will make me
    more grateful for what
    I had.

    Do not tell me
    I was lucky.

    Do not even tell me
    there will be a blessing.

    Give me instead
    the blessing
    of breathing with me.

    Give me instead
    the blessing
    of sitting with me
    when you cannot think
    of what to say.

    Give me instead
    the blessing
    of asking about him—
    how we met
    or what I loved most
    about the life
    we have shared;
    ask for a story 
    or tell me one
    because a story is, finally,
    the only place on earth
    he lives now.

    If you could know
    what grace lives
    in such a blessing,
    you would never cease
    to offer it.

    If you could glimpse
    the solace and sweetness
    that abide there,
    you would never wonder
    if there was a blessing
    you could give
    that would be better
    than this – 
    the blessing of 
    your own heart
    opened
    and beating
    with mine.

          No one escapes loss or grief in this life – it’s part of the human condition. Jesus knows the suffering of the human heart and he chooses to heal, to forgive, to love and to bless everyone he meets. In Jesus – “Emmanuel, God with us” – we see the compassionate heart of God for the world.

          Shortly after I retired and moved to Ashland, I joined the spiritual care team at a local residential Hospice house. In our training, we learned that our role as volunteers was to be present, to be kind, and to be honest.Notice the phrasing “to be” rather than “to do.” In the company of those experiencing deep losses, it was important for us to understand our role as those who accompany another on life’s journey through death. These guidelines also seem to me to be a good philosophy for living in relationship with others in the spirit of Christ. 

          As we read the gospels, so often these are the ways that Jesus meets whoever is before him. He is presentwith them. He sees them exactly as they are, but through eyes of compassion. He is kind. He illumines the loving-kindness of God. And he is honest. He tells the truth without recrimination and only so that the one before him can recognize it and decide what they will do with it.

          We who follow Christ have the capacity to bless others as well with our presence, our kindness, and our honesty. We can look upon the world with eyes of compassion for we know we have been recipients of such generous love ourselves. We can see others through the lens of grace for it is only grace that has saved us. 

          Incarnational living means breathing in the life of God and breathing out blessing for all that God has created and loved.

    III. Incarnational living means doing the work of Christmas every day.

          Christian preacher and teacher Tony Campolo once said, “Jesus never says to the poor: ‘come find the church’, but he says to those of us in the church: ‘go into the world and find the poor, hungry, homeless, imprisoned.”

          Christmas is an invitation to follow Jesus into the world and embody the same kind of compassionate presence that he did. It’s an invitation to befriend the lonely, heal the broken, bless the one wounded by life. Incarnational living means picking up the mantle of Jesus’ ministry and letting it live through you. It is to “let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,” as we read in Philippians 2:5, and emptying yourself in order to serve those around you. 

         To mark the day when the Christmas season comes to an end on the feast of Epiphany, Howard Thurman, an African-American theologian, educator, and civil rights leader, wrote this benediction.

    Now the Work of Christmas Begins[x]

    When the song of the angels is stilled,
    when the star in the sky is gone,
    when the kings and princes are home,
    when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
    the work of Christmas begins:
    to find the lost,
    to heal the broken,
    to feed the hungry,
    to release the prisoner,
    to rebuild the nations,
    to bring peace among the people,
    to make music in the heart.

         “Jesus came to incarnate God’s presence and love to humanity. But before he left this earth, he called us to do the same in his name. Jesus’ followers are intended to put flesh on the invisible God, to incarnate God for the world. We know what this looks like because we see incarnation in Jesus as we read the Gospels. (The apostle) Paul … (calls) the church … ‘the body of Christ.’ We are the ongoing incarnation.”[xi]

          We who seek to incarnate the unconditional love of God for the world can choose to live as justice-seeking, love-creating, truth-telling, hope-birthing people![xii] Or as biblical theologian Walter Brueggemann states it: “Like the ancient prophets, we are dispatched back to the good work entrusted to us. It is the work of peace-making. It is the work of truth-telling. It is the work of justice-doing. It is good work, but it requires our resolve to stay it, even in the face of forces to the contrary that are sure to prevail for a season.”[xiii]

          Christmas is a holy invitation to:

    1. recognize the Divine Presence in all of creation,
    2. exercise your God-given capacity for blessing others, and 
    3. continue the good work of Christmas every day.

          May we, by the grace of God, more fully embrace incarnational living this Christmas so that our lives are a blessing to others and to the world, showing forth the light and love of Christ!

    Mark Lloyd Richardson


    [i] Adam Hamilton, Incarnation: Rediscovering the Significance of Christmas (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2020), pp. 46-7.

    [ii] Ann Weems, Kneeling in Bethlehem (Philadelphia, The Westminster Press, 1980), p. 19.

    [iii] Richard Rohr, The Universal Christ, p. 29. St. Athanasius (296-373) says that God reveals God’s Self everywhere in creation, “so that nothing was left devoid of his Divinity … so that ‘the whole universe was filled with the knowledge of the Lord as the waters fill the sea.’’” (Athanasius, De Incarnatione Verbi 45).

    [iv] John Philip Newell, Sacred Earth Sacred Soul (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2021), p. 143.

    [v] The English term “to bless” comes from Latin benedicere, literally “to speak well of” (as in bene – meaning well or good, and dicere – meaning to speak). Thus, at its root, to bless someone is to speak well of him or her.

    [vi] Frederick Buechner, Listening to your Life: Daily Meditations with Frederick Buechner.

    [vii] James Crew, poem “How to Listen,” San Luis Obispo County Arts Council email. 

    [viii] Ronald Rolheiser, Sacred Fire: A Vision for a Deeper Human and Christian Maturity (New York: Image, 2014), p. 242.

    [ix] Jan Richardson, The Cure for Sorrows: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief (Orlando, FL: Wanton Gospeller Press, 2016), pp. 53-4.

    [x] The poem “The Work of Christmas” is from Howard Thurman’s The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations and is used by permission of Friends United Press. All rights reserved.

    [xi] Adam Hamilton, Incarnation, p. 112.

    [xii] From an Academy for Spiritual Formation email.

    [xiii] Walter Brueggemann, quoted on Progressive Christians.

    Join the Dance

    30 Friday Aug 2024

    Posted by mark lloyd richardson in Reflections

    ≈ 12 Comments

    Tags

    bittersweet, change, creating, diversity, grief, growth, joy, loss

    “Change is inevitable. Growth is optional.” ~ John Maxwell

    Change is a constant on this human journey.
    Permanence can at times feel like an elusive dream. 

    Change arrives in many forms …
    … in the people we know
    … in the places we have grown to love
    … in our relationships with family and friends
    … in our own health and well-being
    … in cultural shifts and everchanging political winds
    … in our evolving perspectives on all things that matter

    I admit that I’ve often longed for a greater sense of permanence in my life.

    I have moved at least thirty times in my life … sometimes across town and sometimes across the country. During my childhood, I attended five elementary schools in six years across three different states. I’ve lived for a period of time in nine different states. I’ve lived in small rural farming towns, in big cities, in suburbs, in the desert, in coastal communities, and in the Hawaiian Islands. 

    My story is not necessarily unique, and I even believe that my experience of living in different places among diverse communities has broadened my awareness of the world and my place within it. In a certain respect, this diverse life experience has been a gift to me. Still, I sometimes envy those who have been in one place for years, even decades, and who reap the benefits of that longevity. 

    There’s a family I know in Santa Barbara who’ve been in that community for generations. They have deep roots and an abundance of interpersonal connections. They have an abiding sense of belonging and attachment to a community they love. There are plenty of other families with similar stories.

    Yet for me, in every place I’ve lived, I’ve eventually had to say goodbye. And there is always a palpable sense of loss in the letting go. 

    Today I find myself at yet another life crossroads. I’ve met someone and she and I are envisioning a future with one another that has already begun beautifully to unfold. I am in the midst of selling my house in one community and moving to her community several hours north. And while I am committed to this new life adventure, there is a bittersweet note to it because of the people and the place I am leaving behind.

    I don’t expect everyone to understand how I am feeling. I only know that my emotions have risen and fallen innumerable times over the past few years as I’ve dealt with the death of a spouse, the conclusion of forty years of active pastoral ministry, the new reality of being retired, moving to a community in another state where I knew two people upon arriving, and losing my mom soon thereafter. 

    It’s felt like nothing but change for a while now. I’m ready to settle down and find a rhythm of life that enables me to continue in paths of learning and service, and in bringing joy and encouragement into others’ lives wherever I choose to invest my time. At the same time, I’m not naïve. I realize there’s plenty of change still ahead for me. 

    So as I try to make sense out of all the change I am experiencing, I will take to heart the words of Alan Watts and simply “plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.”

    Or as the great jazz trumpeter, Miles Davis, once said, “It’s not about standing still and becoming safe. If anybody wants to keep creating, they have to be about change.”

    To Have Memories

    27 Saturday Apr 2024

    Posted by mark lloyd richardson in grief, Reflections

    ≈ 9 Comments

    Tags

    blessing, Cancer, forgiveness, gratitude, grief, love, memory, oncology

    “To have memories, happy or sorrowful, is a blessing,
    for it shows we have lived our lives without reservation.”
    ~ Tan Twan Eng, The Gift of Rain

    I remember the smile you wore when I first came to your door.
    I remember our first embrace, so full of yearning.
    I remember our first kiss, so full of delight.
    It was a tender time, wasn’t it? 
    The sweetness held us, even as we revealed the pain that we each had known.

    I remember lazy walks with you among pine and cypress trees,
    the ocean’s soft roar in the distance calling us.

    I remember deep conversation interspersed with comfortable silences,
    as though our two souls needed time to breathe –
    to breathe in the fullness, the beauty, and the terror,
    of all we had experienced before meeting,
    all we were experiencing now with each other.

    I remember quiet days and sleepless nights.

    I remember worrying I might not be enough for you,
    confident you were everything I needed.

    I remember you always being there for me,
    with a fierce and tender loyalty and love.

    I remember making mistakes and being forgiven.

    I remember the long waiting hours 
    for the doctor to return from the operating room 
    and invite me into a private space to talk.
    And I remember the distress I saw in her eyes 
    as she delivered the awful news –
    your abdominal cavity was riddled with a rare form of cancer,
    they didn’t yet know its origin,
    but they had done their best to get all of it.

    I remember the years of oncology visits and the many tests and scans 
    and invasive procedures the medical world inflicted on your body 
    to save you for another day, another month, another year.

    I remember the silent toll it took on you, 
    even as you wholeheartedly embraced each day of living.

    I remember time – 
    measured, sifted, scattered —
    that we received as gift and blessing.

    I remember your hand slipping into mine whenever we walked.

    I remember the places we still wanted to go together,
    the life we imagined living together. 

    I remember the times we were apart,
    wanting only to return to you.

    I remember joy and sadness mingling so often as one.

    I remember being deeply humbled and grateful to have you in my life.

    I remember not being able to imagine your absence.
    And now, there is no need to imagine it.
    It meets me unwanted around every turn.

    Mark Lloyd Richardson
    In memory of Dallis
    April 2024

    Venturing back into blogging

    02 Sunday Jul 2023

    Posted by mark lloyd richardson in Reflections

    ≈ 12 Comments

    Tags

    Ocean, Pastoral ministry, Poetry, relationships, retirement, worship, writing

    After 40+ years of pastoral ministry, with most Sundays being taken up with worship and/or preaching responsibilities, today was different. As of two days ago, I am in the “retired relationship” with the California-Pacific Conference of the United Methodist Church. That’s what it is called: a “retired relationship.” In other words, there is a relationship that exists after these many years with a people who seek to live out their faith in this part of the world. It is a relationship of accountability and of blessing!

    Today was different for me because I had no responsibility for any church matters. I had to consciously decide how to spend my morning. Always before it was decided for me. I had some thoughts, but nothing was really firm. Already, I guess, I am releasing myself from always having to have a definite plan. Have some ideas and see where you feel most called when the time comes. So although I thought I would be attending worship in person somewhere locally, when I woke up, I found my heart being tugged toward the ocean which has always been a restorative place for me.

    So, I decided to attend worship online with the good people at Washington National Cathedral in D.C. They’re a few hours ahead, so I got to their website at 8 a.m. and waited for the Prelude to begin. It was quite an amazing worship service, including inspiring Gospel music, wonderful choral music, and a thought-provoking sermon.

    Then it was off to the beach in Carpinteria (CA) for the morning, where it was cloudy and cool. The tide was in, and the waves were relatively calm. It was a lovely time to meander off as far as I could in one direction and just listen to the music of nature and watch the seabirds do their thing. Along the way I picked up some shells, rocks, and driftwood that looked interesting. Mostly though it was about being immersed again in the rhythm of life. About beginning a new chapter. About taking what I’ve learned and the relationships that continue to be a source of joy to me and moving into new ventures and new places.

    The past forty years of pastoral work have naturally involved a lot of writing — mostly related to ministry with the constant need to write letters, articles, columns, sermons, and liturgy. Now the writing I do will have more to do with what feeds my soul and nourishes my spirit on any given day. Perhaps some of my writing will also be meaningful to someone else along the way. I expect, although I don’t know, that my writing will mostly be poetry, blessings, prayers, and reflections on the natural world and our place in it. 

    Thanks for tagging along!

    Mark

    New Recording 3

    25 Thursday Aug 2022

    Posted by mark lloyd richardson in grief, Poems, Reflections

    ≈ 1 Comment

    Tags

    grief, spiritual

    The recording on my phone
    from a near and distant day
    says only New Recording 3—
    not much to go on.

    I haven’t heard it in years
    since standing in a throng of preachers
    inside a packed sanctuary in Minneapolis
    singing together a beloved Spiritual 
    before the Gospel is to be read.

    At first, I struggle to remember –
    where is this?
    why am I recording this?
    what moved me to preserve
    these particular moments?

    Precious Lord, take my hand,
    lead me on, let me stand,
    I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
    through the storm, through the night,
    lead me on to the light:
    Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

    These words,
    these timeless words…
    oh, how they soothe the soul.
    Loved by so many,
    they are words that smooth over
    the hard edges of this life,
    holding us
    at least for a time
    in the safekeeping of holy love.

    As I listen
    they do that for me
    as they have for generations 
    of light-seekers before me.

    Then I hear it—
    unmistakable
    like a songbird
    in the early morning air.

    The one beside me
    singing in that voice that melts me
    causing the tears to form
    as I listen.

    Precious Lord, take my hand…
    we sing together
    on that near and distant day
    when life was not yet changed.

    When the darkness appears
    and the night draws near,
    and the day is past and gone,
    at the river I stand, 
    guide my feet, hold my hand:
    Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

    You’ve taken her hand now.
    And you’ve taken mine.
    Lead us on
    to the light. 
    Lead us on
    to our home
    where holy love dwells.

    Mark Lloyd Richardson
    August 2022

    How Long?

    28 Saturday May 2022

    Posted by mark lloyd richardson in grief, Reflections

    ≈ 6 Comments

    Tags

    grief, healing, meaning, normality, psychological wounds, Time

    Just enough time has passed
    that people think I’m okay
    that I’m myself again
    back to normal
    whatever that means
    when in fact I’m a wounded warrior
    a man who’s been in a battle
    to cling to meaning
    and to hope
    and to a chance to heal.

    How long is enough for such things?
    How much time does it take
    to believe you will be okay
    maybe someday
    in an unknown future
    as the moon hovers mournfully
    over the pieces of your life
    littered across the ground
    like dark humus
    meant to rouse a dormant soul?

    There may not be enough time.
    How could there be?
    Time is meaningless.
    It’s here
    it’s gone
    it’s fragile
    it’s tenuous
    it’s mystifying
    it’s merely a container
    for the life you thought you would have.

    That life has slipped from your grasp.
    You’ve lost the one you loved.
    You will not get her back.
    There’s no normal anymore
    or okay
    or time enough
    to heal the deep wound.
    It remains.

    Mark Lloyd Richardson
    May 27, 2022
    16 months

    Prayer to a Great Blue Heron

    27 Monday Sep 2021

    Posted by mark lloyd richardson in grief, Prayers, Reflections

    ≈ 3 Comments

    Tags

    Breathing, fear, gratitude, grief, loss, paying attention, prayer

    Prayer to a Great Blue Heron

    You’ve met me twice recently by the lake,
    with your elegant serene pose,
    standing so still I almost didn’t see you.

    The first time I was with a friend – 
    someone who knew you,
    whom I had asked to meet me.

    I needed a friend – 
    someone to interrupt the bleakness
    of all this unwanted time alone.

    I was afraid.

    I was always taught not to show fear – 
    a lesson in protecting oneself,
    well-intentioned but poor advice.

    For when facing down a soul
    burdened with the harshness of grief,
    there are times when fear is all there is.

    Fear of crumbling into a million pieces,
    fear of forgetting the touch, smell, taste
    of your beloved in the passage of time,

    fear of being hollowed out by sadness,
    fear of being swallowed up by loneliness,
    fear of losing purpose.

    So many fears.

    The next time I spotted you at the lake
    I nearly missed you altogether.
    You didn’t move or make a sound.

    Yet there you stood as regal as before,
    exquisite in your muted tones against the reeds,
    blending in to this world of water and sky.

    I stopped to breathe,
    to wonder at your presence,
    to say thank you.

    Is this you accompanying me in my fear?
    Is this you beckoning me to pay attention?

    I pray that it is.

    Mark Lloyd Richardson
    September 27, 2021
    8 months

    A Prayer for Our Country

    10 Friday Sep 2021

    Posted by mark lloyd richardson in Justice, Peace with justice, Reflections, Worship Liturgy

    ≈ 2 Comments

    Tags

    9/11, call of God, collective grief, God of love, healing of divisions, liberty, peace, prayer, social justice, wisdom

    New York City 20th Anniversary of 9/11 Weekend Memorial

    A Prayer for Our Country
    On the eve of the twentieth anniversary of 9/11

    “For Jesus, 
    there are no countries to be conquered,
    no ideologies to be imposed,
    no people to be dominated.
    There are only children, 
    women and men to be loved.”
    ~ Henri Nouwen

    God of expansive and generous love,
    whose concern is the whole wide wonderful world,
    especially the vulnerable and anawim (poor ones),
    who hears prayers in countless languages,
    who cannot be imprisoned in any one religion,
    who took human form in a person of color,
    in whom unity is discovered in beautiful diversity,
    whose heart breaks anew each day
    at the disease, death, and destruction
    wrought by the creatures of earth,
    hear our prayer.

    We cannot claim you as our own – 
    you are not an American God.
    To do so is blasphemy.

    Rather, you claim us as your own –
    ordinary folks from all walks of life,
    each one different,
    yet more similar than dissimilar –
    and you call us to live lives of genuine love,
    caring for the least of these among us,
    becoming persistent warriors for peace,
    laboring to achieve justice for all,
    seeking to be compassionate as God is compassionate.

    So, while we identified some enemies
    and misidentified others
    in the aftermath of 9/11,
    and then marched dutifully off to war,
    thinking we could avenge the harm done to us
    when the World Trade Center and the Pentagon were struck
    and a plane was forced down in a Pennsylvania field,
    and so many innocent lives 
    of loved ones with futures and hopes
    were lost to us,
    we were mostly serving ourselves, not you.

    We pray for our country
    on this anniversary of tragedy and resolve.
    We pray for comfort in our collective grief.

    We pray too that the discipline of duty 
    might be turned to addressing our own troubles
    before turning our fury upon others.

    We pray that we begin to take seriously
    matters of liberty and justice that affect us all,
    directly or indirectly –
    climate change,
    income inequality,
    equal access to voting,
    racial profiling,
    police violence,
    wrongful convictions,
    prisons built upon profits,
    women’s health and reproductive choices,
    equal protections for our LGBTQ siblings.

    We pray for healing amid our deep divisions,
    not so that we all think alike,
    but so that we might again be able 
    to talk meaningfully and honestly with one another.

    Finally, we pray for the wisdom
    to reclaim and redefine our nation’s core principles
    to ensure the liberty and justice that is due to all.

    Amen. So may it be.

    Mark Lloyd Richardson
    September 10, 2021

    Blessing for When You Don’t Know Where to Begin

    31 Tuesday Aug 2021

    Posted by mark lloyd richardson in Blessings, grief, Reflections

    ≈ Leave a comment

    Tags

    accepting joy, blessing, fears, grief, healing, loneliness, unanswered questions

    Award-winning photo of Morro Rock by Dallis Day Richardson

    Blessing for When You Don’t Know Where to Begin

    This blessing isn’t sure where to begin.
    So many steps are just steps in the dark. 
    So much of life is shaped by uncertainty.
    So many questions litter our paths.
    Where to begin.

    Where to begin in mending one’s shattered heart.
    Where to begin in creating a life on one’s own.
    Where to begin in accepting joy when it comes.
    Where to begin.

    Even if there are discernible first steps, then what?
    At the core of being human the heart beats
    with a force originating in the earth’s beginnings
    where fire and water and soil and air collide
    and explode into wondrous breathtaking life!
    Is this the place where healing begins –
    as you immerse yourself in this cosmic life force?
    If so, where do you learn how to do this?

    This blessing sees how often you lose your way
    as you unsteadily chart a strange new path alone
    without another soul truly able to guide you.
    What could anyone possibly say?
    They would be trying to piece you back together
    into their vision of wholeness.

    This blessing admits defeat when necessary.
    There is no winning the wrestling match with grief
    when it approaches with muscles bulging
    and gaze focused squarely on your weaknesses.
    It will pin you every time.
    Every damn time.

    Maybe though, just maybe,
    this is precisely what you need –
    a sweeping wide-ranging battle to live
    with the very things you fear most –
    loneliness,
    meaninglessness,
    being forgotten 
    left behind
    as the world moves on,
    accepting undeserved joy –
    as you spar with your muscled opponent
    who looks surprisingly familiar,
    like someone you’ve encountered before
    but haven’t seen in years.

    Mark Lloyd Richardson
    August 27, 2021
    7 months

    Blessing While Searching for Home

    26 Monday Jul 2021

    Posted by mark lloyd richardson in Blessings, grief, Reflections

    ≈ 4 Comments

    Tags

    blessing, death, dying, grief, home, refuge, sanctuary, shelter, trust

    Dallis on Hanalei Beach, Kauai (2017)

    Blessing While Searching for Home

    When we fell in love
    it was a long and lovely fall
    tumbling heart first
    into a trust so deep and wide
    neither of us recognized it at first.

    Here where the soul is bare
    and unashamed
    and caught off guard 
    by the beauty of another
    we discovered home
    for the first time in our lives.

    It is not to be taken for granted –
    this serendipity of finding
    what we knew our souls needed
    but had never been able to find –
    a shelter from the storm,
    a refuge amid life’s troubles,
    a sanctuary of healing grace.

    Your dying
    shook the foundations
    of this home we fashioned
    out of love and sweat
    and laughter and tears.

    Now many questions travel with me
    in this liminal territory I’ve entered –
    where am I to turn for shelter,
    how will I recover a sense of home,
    how do I cultivate a circle of trust,
    how does one pray with a heart bereft,
    how do I travel this long, lonely road?

    Travel with me, sweetheart.
    Please, I pray, travel with me,
    as I wait for answers 
    and go in search of them.

    Travel with me, sweetheart,
    and in the traveling
    hold these questions with me
    until a new dawn arrives.

    Travel with me
    and be home for me,
    and in the sweet mystery of love
    be home with me.

    Mark Lloyd Richardson
    July 27, 2021

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