Lined with light the twigs are stubby arrows. A gilded trunk writhes Upward from the roots, from the pit of the black tentacles.
In the book of spring a bare-limbed torso is the first illustration.
Light teaches the tree to beget leaves, to embroider itself all over with green reality, until summer becomes its steady portrait and birds bring their lifetime to the boughs.
Then even the corpse light copies from below may shimmer, dreaming it feels the cheeks of blossom. ~May Swenson “April Light”
For over two years, we have been surrounded by a shimmering corpse light hovering close, masked and wary when we needed each other most.
Even so, the world is not defeated by death.
An unprecedented illumination emerged from the tomb on a bright Sabbath morning to guarantee that we struggling people, we who became no more than bare twigs and stubs, we who feel at times hardly alive, are now begetting green, ready to burst into blossom, our glowing cheeks pink with life, a picture of our future fruitfulness.
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
…to break through earth and stone of the faithless world back to the cold sepulchre, tearstained stifling shroud; to break from them back into breath and heartbeat, and walk the world again, closed into days and weeks again, wounds of His anguish open, and Spirit streaming through every cell of flesh so that if mortal sight could bear to perceive it, it would be seen His mortal flesh was lit from within, now, and aching for home. He must return, first, In Divine patience, and know hunger again, and give to humble friends the joy of giving Him food – fish and a honeycomb. ~Denise Levertov “Ikon: The Harrowing of Hell” from A Door in the Hive
The Holy Saturday of our life must be the preparation for Easter, the persistent hope for the final glory of God. The virtue of our daily life is the hope which does what is possible and expects God to do the impossible. To express it somewhat paradoxically, but nevertheless seriously: the worst has actually already happened; we exist, and even death cannot deprive us of this. Now is the Holy Saturday of our ordinary life, but there will also be Easter, our true and eternal life. ~Karl Rahner “Holy Saturday” in The Great Church Year
This in-between day after all had gone so wrong: the rejection, the denials, the trumped-up charges, the beatings, the burden, the jeering, the mocking, the thorns, the nails, the thirst, the suffocation, the despair of being forsaken.
This already but not yet day before all will go so right: the forgiveness and compassion, the grace and sacrifice, the debt paid in full, mortal flesh lit from within, an immovable stone rolled away, our names on His lips, our hearts burning to hear His words.
What does it take to move such a stone? When it is an effort to till the untillable, creating a place where simple seed can drop, be covered and sprout and thrive, thanks to muscle and sweat and blisters and tears.
What does it take to move the stone? When it is a day when no one will speak out of fear, the silent will be moved to cry out the truth, heard and known and never forgotten.
What does it take to move the stone? When it is a day when all had given up, gone behind locked doors in grief. When two came to tend the dead, there would be no dead to tend.
Only a gaping hole left Only an empty tomb Only a weeping weary silence broken by Love calling our name and we turn to greet Him as if hearing it for the first time.
We cannot imagine what is to come at dawn tomorrow as the stone lifted and rolled, giving way so our separation is bridged, darkness overwhelmed by light, dead flesh lit and warmed and animated, the crushed and broken rising to dance, and inexplicably, from the waiting stillness He stirs and we, finding death emptied, greet Him with trembling… We are forever moved and we cry out, singing, like an immovable stone that cannot remain silent.
This year’s Lenten theme for Barnstorming is a daily selection from songs and hymns about Christ’s profound sacrifice on our behalf.
If we remain silent about Him, the stones themselves will shout out and start to sing (Luke 19:40).
In His name, may we sing…
They have been saying all our plans are empty. They have been saying “Where is their God now?” Roll away the stone see the Glory of God. Roll away the stone.
They have been saying no one will remember. They have been saying Power rules the world. Roll away the stone see the Glory of God. Roll away the stone.
They have been saying no one hears the singing. They have been saying all our strength is gone. Roll away the stone see the Glory of God. Roll away the stone.
They have been saying “All of us are dying.” They have been saying “All of us are dead.” Roll away the stone see the Glory of God. Roll away the stone. ~Tom Conry
I see his blood upon the rose And in the stars the glory of his eyes, His body gleams amid eternal snows, His tears fall from the skies.
I see his face in every flower; The thunder and the singing of the birds Are but his voice-and carven by his power Rocks are his written words.
All pathways by his feet are worn, His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea, His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn, His cross is every tree. ~Joseph Plunkett “I See His Blood Upon the Rose”
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
When Jesus wept, the falling tear in mercy flowed beyond all bound; when Jesus groaned, a trembling fear seized all the guilty world around. ~William Billings
And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. ~Luke 19:41-42
Facing this week of remembrance, knowing that right now thousands are displaced by war, some in graves, some grieving their losses, some wondering what comes next.
On this journey, we face our own fears of vulnerability and mortality, a week where thorns overwhelm the emerging blossoms~~
To acknowledge what He did this week long ago, to conquer the shroud and the stone, to defy death, makes all the difference for us here and now.
Indeed Jesus wept and groaned for us.
To be known for who we are by a God who weeps for us and groans with pain we caused: we can know no greater love.
This week ends our living for self, only to die, and begins our dying to self, in order to live.
This year’s Lenten theme for Barnstorming is a daily selection from songs and hymns about Christ’s profound sacrifice on our behalf.
If we remain silent about Him, the stones themselves will shout out and start to sing (Luke 19:40).
In His name, may we sing…
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
Weary traveler Beat down from the storms that you have weathered Feels like this road just might go on forever Carry on ~Jordan St. Cyr
There are so many who are weary right now: -refugees who have walked for miles to reach safety, with no idea where to go next. -hopeful immigrants who seek a new life and a new start, but bogged down in government process and paperwork -those who are struggling to stay alive in the midst of debilitating illness, both physical and mental -those who have given of themselves to care for those who struggle -those who have lived many years and now feel ready to be taken home, yet wake again to a new day -those whose faith feels beaten down by the loss of community and congregational consolation during two years of pandemic anger and disagreement -those who mourn deeply for those they have lost.
God knows our grief. God knows our weary bodies and minds need rest and restoration. God knows the struggle as He too walked this weary road, too often alone.
Yet He carried on then and carries on today and will be there alongside us tomorrow.
Carry on. Someday we will make it home.
This year’s Lenten theme for Barnstorming is a daily selection from songs and hymns about Christ’s profound sacrifice on our behalf.
If we remain silent about Him, the stones themselves will shout out and start to sing (Luke 19:40).
In His name, may we sing…
Weary traveler Beat down from the storms that you have weathered Feels like this road just might go on forever Carry on
You keep on giving But every day this world just keeps on taking Your tired heart is on the edge of breaking Carry on
Weary traveler, restless soul You were never meant to walk this road alone It’ll all be worth it so just hold on
Weary traveler You won’t be weary long No more searching
Heaven’s healing’s gonna find where all the hurt is When Jesus calls we’ll lay down all our heavy burdens Carry on Someday soon we’re gonna make it home
Neon lights flickering Outside the cafe Ice on the windshield Stars in a black sea On a winter road Flurries of snow I’m ready to go
Past farmhouse and pasture Our voices together Rise to the drumming Of big-rigs and trailers Long hours to daylight A rumbling bus Our bed and our board
Heavenly Father Remember the traveler Bring us safely home Heavenly Father Remember the traveler Bring us safely home Safely home
In the towns off this highway The people are kind They welcome us in I sing in their church halls Old hymns and prayer songs With lifted hearts We rejoice in the Lord
I long for my family And friends to remind me Of where I have been And where I am going And where I come from
Heavenly Father Remember the traveler Bring us safely home Heavenly Father Remember the traveler Bring us safely home Safely home
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation of daily Barnstorming posts
For you have delivered me from death and my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before God in the light of life.Psalm 56:13
God alone can deliver a soul from its death, lift a life from a wasteland of need. God alone can replenish with blessings untold until into His light we are freed we are freed. ~Susan Boersma from “Father of Light“
Wait, for now. Distrust everything, if you have to. But trust the hours. Haven’t they carried you everywhere, up to now? Personal events will become interesting again. Hair will become interesting. Pain will become interesting. Buds that open out of season will become lovely again. Second-hand gloves will become lovely again, their memories are what give them the need for other hands. And the desolation of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness carved out of such tiny beings as we are asks to be filled; the need for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Wait. Don’t go too early. You’re tired. But everyone’s tired. But no one is tired enough. Only wait a while and listen. Music of hair, Music of pain, music of looms weaving all our loves again. Be there to hear it, it will be the only time, most of all to hear, the flute of your whole existence, rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion. ~Galway Kinnell “Wait”from A New Selected Poems
If everyone abandons you and even drives you away by force, then when you are left alone fall on the earth and kiss it, water it with your tears, and it will bring forth fruit even though no one has seen or heard you in your solitude. Believe to the end, even if all people went astray and you were left the only one faithful; bring your offering even then and praise God in your loneliness. ~Fyodor Dostoyevsky from The Brothers Karamazov
Suicide rates of teenagers in the United States increased well over 30% since 2009. Their voices echo loudly:
“It would be easier if I were dead” “No one cares if I live or die” “The world would be better off without me” “It’s too painful to continue” “I’m not worthy to be here” “It is my right and no one can stop me”
Let us protect our holiness as created in the image of God even though weak and frail and prone to helpless hopelessness. We will be restored. In His Light, He will not let us stumble and fall.
Dear ones, please wait a little longer, only a little longer: don’t go too early – your bud will soon bloom in His Light.
This year’s Lenten theme for Barnstorming is a daily selection from songs and hymns about Christ’s profound sacrifice on our behalf.
If we remain silent about Him, the stones themselves will shout out and start to sing (Luke 19:40).
In His name, may we sing…
From the comments on this video: Written by Susan Boersma and based loosely on Psalm 56, this piece was commissioned by the Sanctuary Choir of Third Presbyterian Church in Richmond, Virginia, in memory of Jonathan Richard White, the son of its music director John Stone White. Jonathan was a teenager who struggled with long-term depression and who, despite his persistent faith in God, in the end took his own life. In the aftermath of this tragedy, Jonathan’s family came to more deeply appreciate the magnitude of his struggle, as witnessed by what he wrote in his journal and Bible, and they noted that he returned frequently to the Psalms to find comfort in his distress. In contrast to the sadness surrounding this young man’s death, Craig Courtney’s writing in this piece is uniformly strong and triumphant. “Father of Light” opens with a vocal solo—indicative perhaps of a personal statement of faith—expressing confidence in God’s leading and protection. This solo is followed by unison singing in the lower voices which echoes the sentiments of the soloist. As the piece progresses, more parts are added and the harmonies become richer, until at last the music moves into a higher key, the piano drops out, and all the voices reiterate the words of the opening solo at a loud dynamic. A final entry of the soloist brings this work to its close and reminds the listener that God is sovereign in all things—even great suffering.
All praise to the name of the Father of Light One Who listens and hears when I call Ev’ry step He ordains, I shall walk without fear in His light I’ll not stumble or fall In His light I’ll not stumble or fall
What can mortal man do while I’m safe in His hand? He is God on His word I rely in the midst of my fear I will trust in His name for I know He will hear when I cry He knows all of my feelings, the depths of despair all the limits my soul can endure. I will trust in His name, I have nothing to lose, for in Him all my hopes are secure.
All praise to the name of the Father of Light One Who listens and hears when I call Ev’ry step He ordains, I shall walk without fear In His light I’ll not stumble or fall In His light I’ll not stumble or fall
God alone can deliver a soul from its death, lift a life from a wasteland of need. God alone can replenish with blessings untold until into His light we are freed we are freed.
All praise to the name of the Father of Light One Who listens and hears when I call Ev’ry step He ordains, I shall walk without fear In His light I’ll not stumble or fall In His light I’ll not stumble or fall Ev’ry step He ordains, I shall walk without fear In His light I’ll not stumble or fall
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
When it’s all been said and done There is just one thing that matters Did I do my best to live for truth? Did I live my life for you? ~James Cowan
We don’t know when we will be done with this world – some have a bit of warning and others disappear unexpectedly in the course of an ordinary day like any other.
We all should consider ourselves warned. When it’s all been said and done, have we spent our time on what is truly meaningful or are we determined to accumulate stuff and status?
Christ lived His life for us. He was “all in” from the beginning and knew His destiny. We are called to live like Him.
When it all is said and done, what matters is love for His truth.
This year’s Lenten theme for Barnstorming is a daily selection from songs and hymns about Christ’s profound sacrifice on our behalf.
If we remain silent about Him, the stones themselves will shout out and start to sing (Luke 19:40).
In His name, may we sing…
When it’s all been said and done There is just one thing that matters Did I do my best to live for truth Did I live my life for you
When it’s all been said and done All my treasures will mean nothing Only what I’ve done for love’s reward Will stand the test of time
Lord your mercy is so great That you look beyond our weakness And find purest gold in miry clay Making sinners into saints
I will always sing your praise Here on earth and ever after For you’ve shown me Heaven’s my true home When it’s all been said and done You’re my life when life is gone
When it’s all been said and done There is just one thing that matters Did I do my best to live for truth Did I live my life for you Lord I’ll live my life for you
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
Death shall not destroy my comfort, Christ shall guide me thro’ the gloom; Down he’ll send some heav’nly convoy, To escort my spirit home. ~American Folk Hymn
Our neighbor Linda died yesterday after being cared for in hospice for the past several days. Her life journey was sadly shortened by the gloom and toll of early-onset dementia.
Even as her memory developed enlarging gaps and holes over the past few years, Jesus was always her refuge when she was lost in her confusion. Linda never lost her awe of God’s goodness, and never forgot His love for her. Even when fearful of the unknown or unremembered, she was held fast by Jesus.
Worshipping weekly with her husband Steve and extended family members brought her immense joy and comfort. She smiled broadly, singing faithfully the hymns she had known for decades.
Her call home is bittersweet for Steve, along with her family and friends who have supported her remaining at home during her last few vulnerable years. There is a toll and gloom in watching a beloved person slowly fade from this life, like a wave retreating from this shore to crest on some other far-off place.
What we who mourn know is that Linda was greeted on that other shore by those who have gone before her, assuring her she no longer would wonder where she was or be worried about what comes next.
She will forever know the joy of worship and the assurance of belonging. After all, there is no gloom in heaven, only the light of holy love.
This year’s Lenten theme for Barnstorming is a daily selection from songs and hymns about Christ’s profound sacrifice on our behalf.
If we remain silent about Him, the stones themselves will shout out and start to sing (Luke 19:40).
In His name, may we sing…
Death shall not destroy my comfort, Christ shall guide me thro’ the gloom; Down he’ll send some heav’nly convoy, To escort my spirit home.
(Refrain): Oh, hallelujah! How I Love my Savior, Oh, hallelujah! That I Do. Oh, Hallelujah! How I love my Savior! Mourners, you may love him too.
Jordan’s stream shall not o’erflow me, While my Savior’s by my side; Canaan, Canaan lies before me! Soon I’ll cross the swelling tide.
See the happy spirits waiting, On the banks beyond the stream! Sweet responses still repeating, “Jesus! Jesus!” is their theme.
Now in the blessed days of more and less when the news about time is that each day there is less of it I know none of that as I walk out through the early garden only the day and I are here with no before or after and the dew looks up without a number or a present age ~W. S. Merwin “Dew Light” from The Moon Before Morning
Dear March—Come in— How glad I am— I hoped for you before— Put down your Hat— You must have walked— How out of Breath you are— ~Emily Dickinson
I measure time by calendar page turns…
there is less left of time each day as I look to the sky to see the sun come and the sun go
I greet the new month as the old one passes reminding myself there won’t be another like it
The morning dew light fades without a before or after only a moment of blessing now.
How can this not be the way of things?
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
Please forgive me for forgetting. I wanted to go outside and look for you. I was told this was impossible.
I was instructed to stay indoors. But my words for you need sun. My heart needs air.
I love you Spring. I miss your warmth. Come unlock my door. ~Ethelbert Miller “Beloved”
I love you, Spring. But where are you? Nearly a week of chill winds and freezing temperatures put me back inside the house wanting to hide under the covers. Water buckets in the barn were frozen again, walkways were slick with ice, once friendly breezes threatened to knock me over with their force. This is not the Spring promised.
Come unlock my door, Spring. When our old apple tree toppled over in the northeast blow earlier this week, I identified a bit too much. The wind took advantage of a hollowed out rotten core the tree had been hiding for years. What might I be hiding inside that makes me just as vulnerable to forces knocking on me, even though I bear fruit as usual?
Please forgive me for forgetting: this world is at war with evil – families hiding in basements, subways filling with refugees, apartment buildings bombed. Now is when we are most fragile, exposed and wounded. Our lumpy exteriors are on full display waiting for spring to renew and cover us up.
I wanted to go look for you: Our farm cat decided the old apple tree lying on its side was a new perfect perch to keep surveillance for curious (and irritating) farm dogs without having to climb up high. There he sat on the fallen trunk, far enough above a corgi dog’s head to be essentially invisible although Homer could absolutely smell there was a cat with threatening claws nearby … somewhere. Just where that cat could be remained a mystery to a dog who is distinctly height-challenged.
Like my cat, I wait now in late winter — seeking the sun for my words and fresh air for my heart. And like my dog, I sense something potentially threatening is near, but because of my own limitations of perception, I have no idea just how close.
I was told this was impossible: may we weather the storms together may there be peace and warmth for all people may we find harmony as winter melts into spring.
cat hiding in plain sight, Homer too short to figure it out
This is my song, O God of all the nations, A song of peace for lands afar and mine. This is my home, the country where my heart is, Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine. But other hearts in other lands are beating, With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine. My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean, And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine. But other lands have sunlight too, and clover, And skies are everywhere as blue as mine. This is my song, O God of all the nations, A song of peace for their land and for mine. So let us raise this melody together, Beneath the stars that guide us through the night; If we choose love, each storm we’ll learn to weather, Until true peace and harmony we find, This is our song, a hymn we raise together; A dream of peace, uniting humankind. ~Lloyd Stone and Blake Morgan
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support Barnstorming
I do not like to think about my life, one lived too often without original fire.
I would rather walk among the serious trees, hooded by important weather, by immense silences.
I’d rather unravel the wind’s calligraphies, letter by letter, and spell myself into the world,
a glittering altar of atoms, all aswirl. Who can know what will happen to each of us,
as time’s currents bend and assail us, as gravity pulls us further into ourselves?
Better to be buoyed skyward, to modestly reach out to the palaver of raindrops, to the silky leaves,
so that the air’s amazement stirs an answering ripple among my own heavy branches.
Let me lose myself in the star’s mute company, among the steady wanderers of night
whose eyes ignite a cupola of yearnings. Crown me with a wreath of stars unmoored
from desire, untampered by this ache for a blaze beyond the tremor of my fingertips. ~Maurya Simon, “A Thousand Acres of Light” from Cartographies
I take myself too seriously, thinking everything in my life must be planned so I am prepared for what could happen next –
Of course it is impossible as who can know?
Each day the unexpected happens if I am willing to recognize it: the rush of the wind, the drenching of raindrops, the tingle of the winter sun on my face.
In that moment I might find endless perfection.
Even the thriving among us may lie down this night and fail to wake tomorrow, atoms toppled over, leaves shriveled, roots exposed, no longer needing to breathe much sooner than planned.
Let me lose myself in that thought: what is lost here is more than replaced by the joy of beholding the Face of the Eternal God.
Faire is the heav’n, where happy souls have place, In full enjoyment of felicitie, Whence they doe still behold the glorious face Of the divine, eternall Majestie…
Yet farre more faire be those bright Cherubins Which all with golden wings are overdight, And those eternall burning Seraphins, Which from their faces dart out fierie light; Yer fairer than they both, and much more bright, Be th’ Angels and Archangels which attend On God’s owne person, without rest or end.
These then is faire each other farre excelling As to the Highest they approach more neare, Yet is that Highest farre beyond all telling Fairer than all the rest which there appeare, Though all their beauties joynd together were: How then can mortall tongue hope to expresse The image of such endlesse perfectnesse? ~Edmund Spenser
One-Time
Monthly
Yearly
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support Barnstorming daily posts
Barnstorming 