Tag Archives: preaching

This Preaching Life

30 Saturday Aug 2014

Posted by in Poems, Reflections

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Pulpit of First United Methodist Church, Santa Barbara (taken by Dallis Day Richardson)

Pulpit of First United Methodist Church, Santa Barbara (taken by Dallis Day Richardson)

Every week
week after week
I put words on a page
and I pray
as I write each one out
it is a word
that in combination with other words
will speak peace into the lives of hearers.

I am a preacher –
not a wild, untamed preacher like John the Baptizer,
whom one might be excused for judging as harsh
as he roared his message of repentance
at the righteous and unrighteous alike,
calling every soul out
to take a clear-eyed look at themselves
and finally grasp that something’s got to change!

I preach with trepidation,
aware that some may find my words inspired
while others seem to know better.

This preaching life does not get any easier.

The preacher stands in need of grace too.

I am a preacher.

Week after week,
the Word who took on flesh calls to all who have ears to hear,
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.
I do not give to you as the world gives.
Do not let your hearts be troubled,
and do not let them be afraid.”

Words (c) 2014 Mark Lloyd Richardson

A Room Remembered

01 Friday Nov 2013

Posted by in Poems

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Nooksack, Washington parsonage

Nooksack, Washington parsonage

A Room Remembered

Granddad’s study
is a modest room
off the living room
in the two-story Nooksack parsonage,
a half block from the wooden country church
where he preaches every Sunday morning.

Its scents fill the air
and remain with me to this day —
wood paneling,
serious books,
mimeograph ink and paper.

In this room every Saturday my granddad copies bulletins
on an aging mimeograph for the next day’s worship service.

At the tender age of five
I am his able assistant.

We watch as sheets of paper fly rhythmically through the machine
and are caught in a tray on the other side.
Then he and I fold the bulletins,
careful to find the middle of each one,
and I am again swept up
in my imaginings of being him.

I imagine standing before a congregation someday,
with a stain-glassed Jesus holding a lamb tenderly in his arms
on the wall behind the pulpit,
and daring to tell the truth about God’s ways in the world.

I am no mere admirer gazing upon my granddad’s noble calling.
No, I love him with eager childlike devotion –
my heart full of wanting to be like him.

Words (c) 2004 Mark Lloyd Richardson

My Granddad, the Rev. Norval Sweet Richardson

My Granddad, the Rev. Norval Sweet Richardson