A shadow is hard to seize by the throat and dash to the ground. ~Victor Hugo from Les Miserables
Be comforted; the world is very old, And generations pass, as they have passed, A troop of shadows moving with the sun; Thousands of times has the old tale been told; The world belongs to those who come the last, They will find hope and strength as we have done. ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow from “A Shadow”
The shadow’s the thing. If I no longer see shadows as “dark marks,” as do the newly sighted, then I see them as making some sort of sense of the light. They give the light distance; they put it in its place. They inform my eyes of my location here, here O Israel, here in the world’s flawed sculpture, here in the flickering shade of the nothingness between me and the light. ~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don’t. ~Blaise Pascal
These days I find myself seeking safety hiding in the shadows under a rock where lukewarm moderates tend to congregate in times of disagreement and dispute.
Extremist views often predominate simply for the sake of differentiating one’s political turf from the opposition.
The chasm is most gaping in any discussion of faith issues. Religion and politics have become angry neighbors constantly arguing over how high to build the fence between them, what it should be made out of, what color it should be, should there be peek holes, should it be electrified with barbed wire to prevent moving back and forth, should there be a gate with or without a lock and who pays for the labor.
And so it goes. We bring out the worst in our leaders as facts are distorted, the truth is stretched or completely abandoned, unseemly pandering abounds and curried favors are served for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Enough already. In the midst of this morass, we who believe still choose to believe.
There is just enough Light for those who seek it. No need to remain blinded in the shadowlands.
I’ll come out from under my rock if you do.
In fact…I think I just did.
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After the two days he left for Galilee. (Now Jesus himself had pointed out that a prophet has no honor in his own country.)When he arrived in Galilee, the Galileans welcomed him. They had seen all that he had done in Jerusalem at the Passover Festival, for they also had been there.
Once more he visited Cana in Galilee, where he had turned the water into wine. And there was a certain royal official whose son lay sick at Capernaum. When this man heard that Jesus had arrived in Galilee from Judea, he went to him and begged him to come and heal his son, who was close to death.
“Unless you people see signs and wonders,” Jesus told him, “you will never believe.”
The royal official said, “Sir, come down before my child dies.”
“Go,” Jesus replied, “your son will live.”
The man took Jesus at his word and departed.While he was still on the way, his servants met him with the news that his boy was living.When he inquired as to the time when his son got better, they said to him, “Yesterday, at one in the afternoon, the fever left him.”
Then the father realized that this was the exact time at which Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live.” So he and his whole household believed.
This was the second sign Jesus performed after coming from Judea to Galilee. John 4: 43-54
Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe. Hebrews 11:1
Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.
Will the day’s journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at that door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come. ~Christina Rossetti “Up-Hill”
This life of ours can be an arduous and often troubled journey.
We might feel like we are never able to reach a point of rest in our uphill climb through obstacles and hazards. It can be so dark we’re not sure we can see the road, much less where we’re headed.
When a royal official makes the 20 hour journey uphill to find Jesus to ask him to heal and save his son, he surely was at a point of desperate need. He is so convinced by the stories of Jesus’ power to heal, he would go wherever needed to make that happen for his dying son.
Yet he discovers Jesus’ power is not just in His hands, but in His words.
Our faith is not just based on what we see with our eyes, but in our trust and belief in Jesus, who is the Word.
When we are faced with that up-hill journey through troubled times, we will not be left stranded, lost and waiting by the roadside. Many have gone on before us, and those faithful are ready and waiting to help walk alongside us and give us encouragement to keep going.
There is a place waiting for wayfarers like us.
Jesus speaks the healing of the son and the royal official takes Him at His Word.
No longer is that official merely politically powerful; he descends back down the road to his home spreading the word to all around him about the far greater power of Jesus.
There is salvation through the Word to those who believe. We all are weary travelers welcomed with open arms as the uphill road points us to the best home of all.
I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year. Once a week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.
Lyrics by Lori McKenna:
When the road under your feet is dark and feels wrong And you find yourself lost and all your confidence gone And the stars over your head through the clouds won’t be revealed I’ll walk with you, even if it’s uphill
When the weight of your troubles send your knees into the dirt And all your loyal distractions only magnify the hurt When lonesome doesn’t quite define how so alone you feel I’ll walk with you, even if it’s uphill
Hard times and landslides are part of life I know Like they say, none of us get out alive Whatever ocean you’re swimming across However valley low Whatever mountains you climb I’ll walk with you, even if it’s uphill
Blessed are the times filled with sun, surrounded by your friends Those days when all the new roads wait right where the old roads end And should you wake up to Everest right outside your windowsill I’ll walk with you even if it’s uphill
Hard times and landslides are part of life God knows We all got some mountains to climb Whatever ocean you’re swimming across However valley low I’m right here, I’ve been right here all this time And I’ll walk with you, even if it’s uphill I’ll walk with you, even if it’s uphill
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In the grey summer garden I shall find you With day-break and the morning hills behind you. There will be rain-wet roses; stir of wings; And down the wood a thrush that wakes and sings. Not from the past you’ll come, but from that deep Where beauty murmurs to the soul asleep: And I shall know the sense of life re-born From dreams into the mystery of morn Where gloom and brightness meet. And standing there Till that calm song is done, at last we’ll share The league-spread, quiring symphonies that are Joy in the world, and peace, and dawn’s one star. ~Siegfried Sassoon“Idyll”
Seventy-one years ago today was a difficult day for both my mother and me.
She remembered it was a particularly hot July 4 with the garden coming on gangbusters and she having quite a time keeping up with summer farm chores. With three weeks to go in her pregnancy, her puffy legs were aching and she wasn’t sleeping well.
She was almost done gestating, with the planned C-section scheduled a few days before my due date of August 1.
She and my dad and my sister had waited eight long years for this pregnancy, having given up hope, having already chosen an infant boy to adopt, the papers signed and waiting on the court for the final approval. They were ready to bring him home when she discovered she was pregnant and the adoption agency gave him to another family.
I’ve always wondered where that little boy ended up, his life trajectory suddenly changed by my unexpected conception. I feel responsible, hoping and praying his life was blessed in another adoptive home.
Every subsequent July 4, my mother would tell me about July 4, 1954 when I was curled upside down inside her impatiently kicking her ribs in my attempts to stretch, hiccuping when she tried to nap, and dozing as she cooked the picnic meal they took to eat while waiting for the local fireworks show to start.
As I grew up, she would remind me as I cringed and covered my ears as fireworks shells boomed overhead, that in 1954 I leapt, startled, inside her with each explosion. She wondered if I might jump right out of her, so she held onto her belly tight, trying to calm and reassure me. Perhaps I was justifiably fearful about what chaos was booming on the outside, as I remained securely inside until the doctor opened Mom up three weeks later.
Now I know I am meant for quieter things, greeting the mystery of each morning with as much calm as I can muster. I still cringe and jump at fireworks and recognize I was blessed to be born to a family who wanted me and waited for me, in a country that had just fought a terrible war. Each child born in those post-war years was a testament to the survival of the American spirit and hope for the future.
Our country now has lost its way in caring first and foremost for the poor, the ill, the hungry, the helpless, the homeless, not only within our borders, but as an outreach beyond our shores to those countries where our help has saved millions of lives.
Will there ever come a day when a baby born in this world will not be threatened with starvation, potentially fatal yet preventable pathogens, or the devastation of war?
Where gloom and brightness meet: defining the drawn lines and borders around and within our country right now…
partial lyrics: And I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered I don’t have a friend who feels at ease I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered Or driven to its knees
But it’s alright, it’s alright For we lived so well so long Still, when I think of the Road we’re traveling on I wonder what’s gone wrong I can’t help it, I wonder what has gone wrong
Text: Where charity and love are, God is there.
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Evening, and all the birds In a chorus of shimmering sound Are easing their hearts of joy For miles around.
The air is blue and sweet, The few first stars are white,– Oh let me like the birds Sing before night. ~Sara Teasdale “Dusk in June”
I am half agony, half hope… ~Jane Austen from Persuasion
Sure on this shining night Of star made shadows round, Kindness must watch for me This side the ground. The late year lies down the north. All is healed, all is health. High summer holds the earth. Hearts all whole. Sure on this shining night I weep for wonder wand’ring far alone Of shadows on the stars. ~James Agee “Sure on this Shining Night”
This time of uncertainty holds the earth captive; our hearts fearful of war in a shimmering summer dusk.
I weep for wonder in hope for a healing peace, at this time, at this place, singing under these stars.
May we rest assured, on another shining night, sometime, we know not when, we know not how, we will lay down arms and live without threat of war.
Amen and Amen.
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As long as that woman from the Rijksmuseum in painted quiet and concentration keeps pouring milk day after day from the pitcher to the bowl the World hasn’t earned the world’s end. ~Wislawa Szymborska “Vermeer” tr. by Claire Cavanagh and Stanislaw Baranczak from Here
Vermeer’s “The Milkmaid” from the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam
As ever, the sun rises and the sun sets, day after day. God continues to pour out His colors across the skies.
God loves us enough to plant each of us here with a plan for our redemption.
We don’t know how much longer.
Today we wave flags, some in a show of power, some in a show of gratitude, some in a show of discontent.
Instead, I pour milk as a daily sacrament: quietly, with great concentration and appreciation, as that is the work I must do, day after day.
To milk the cows and raise wheat for bread and conceive children and raise them up to pour and bake.
This is God’s created world, after all. We must do our best to restore and preserve all that He has made.
So keep milking and keep pouring.
AI image created for this post
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‘Verily Thou art a God that hidest Thyself.’ is. xlv. 15.
God, though to Thee our psalm we raise No answering voice comes from the skies; To Thee the trembling sinner prays But no forgiving voice replies; Our prayer seems lost in desert ways, Our hymn in the vast silence dies.
We see the glories of the earth But not the hand that wrought them all: Night to a myriad worlds gives birth, Yet like a lighted empty hall Where stands no host or door or hearth Vacant creation’s lamps appal.
We guess; we clothe Thee, unseen King, With attributes we deem are meet; Each in his own imagining Sets up a shadow in Thy seat; Yet know not how our gifts to bring, Where seek thee with unsandalled feet.
And still th’unbroken silence broods While ages and while aeons run, As erst upon chaotic floods The Spirit hovered ere the sun Had called the seasons’ changeful moods And life’s first germs from death had won.
And still th’abysses infinite Surround the peak from which we gaze. Deep calls to deep and blackest night Giddies the soul with blinding daze That dares to cast its searching sight On being’s dread and vacant maze.
And Thou art silent, whilst Thy world Contends about its many creeds And hosts confront with flags unfurled And zeal is flushed and pity bleeds And truth is heard, with tears impearled, A moaning voice among the reeds.
My hand upon my lips I lay; The breast’s desponding sob I quell; I move along life’s tomb-decked way And listen to the passing bell Summoning men from speechless day To death’s more silent, darker spell.
Oh! till Thou givest that sense beyond, To shew Thee that Thou art, and near, Let patience with her chastening wand Dispel the doubt and dry the tear; And lead me child-like by the hand; If still in darkness not in fear.
Speak! whisper to my watching heart One word—as when a mother speaks Soft, when she sees her infant start, Till dimpled joy steals o’er its cheeks. Then, to behold Thee as Thou art, I’ll wait till morn eternal breaks. ~Gerard Manley Hopkins “Nondum (Not Yet)”
There is great darkness right now in our country’s leadership, spilling shadows over the rest of the world.
Each day brings a new proclamation of presumed earthly power, exacting great cost to those who are most vulnerable and powerless.
Though it may seem God is silent, He is not.
God broods, as do parents who protect their offspring. He hears the cries of His people who are harmed and helpless. He will respond, and His children understand we are still in the “not yet” of His kingdom on earth, and we wait for His return to set all things right.
This year’s Lenten theme:
…where you go I will go… Ruth 1:16
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Divinity is not playful. The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensible earnest. By a power that is unfathomably secret, and holy, and fleet. There is nothing to be done about it, but ignore it, or see. ~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities— his eternal power and divine nature— have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. Romans 1:20
All creatures are doing their best to help God in His birth of Himself.
You and I weren’t conceived by random happenstance, nor are those unwelcome souls who are wished or washed away before ever taking a breath.
We are here because we are earnestly needed and wanted, by a Power and Divinity beyond our comprehension, Who has capacity for love and compassion unmatched by anything in our earthly experience.
We aren’t a cosmic joke or mistake. We aren’t pawns in the universe’s chess game.
Though we may loll about in the smelly stuff of this life, thinking what we say or do doesn’t matter a hill of beans, we are created by God as a witness to who He is, in whose image we are made.
He won’t be ignored; we have no excuses.
We were blind but now we see…
God looks down from heaven on all mankind to see if there are any who understand, any who seek God. Psalm 53:2
To understand the meek picture a great stallion at full gallop in a meadow, who— at his master’s voice—seizes up to a stunned but instant halt. So with the strain of holding that great power in check, the muscles along the arched neck keep eddying, and only the velvet ears prick forward, awaiting the next order. ~Mary Karr from “Who The Meek Are Not”
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Matthew 5:5
Let every man be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger, for the anger of man does not work the righteousness of God. James 1: 19-20
I’ve seen meekness like this, first hand.
Our stallion allowed his strength and passion to be under control. He was eager to listen. He wanted to see what we might ask of him. He took instruction eagerly. He never lashed back in anger. He simply wanted to be with us.
Meekness and humility make no sense given the world’s demand now for “strongman” leadership: someone who submits to no one, apologizes to no one, blames others for what goes wrong, feels compassion for no one.
Globally and individually, we have desperate need of meekness. True strength is when someone knows the extent of their power but resists the need to prove it to anyone else.
The meek love this God who shares Himself, who sacrifices for the bereft, and whose great strength is obvious, yet directed completely to our salvation.
Humble and Human, willing to bend You are Fashioned of flesh and the fire of life, You are Not too proud to wear our skin To know this weary world we’re in Humble, humble Jesus
Humble in sorrow, You gladly carried Your cross Never refusing Your life to the weakest of us Not too proud to bear our sin To feel this brokenness we’re in
Humble, humble Jesus We bow our knees We must decrease You must increase We lift You high
Humble in greatness, born in the likeness of man Name above all names, holding our world in Your hands Not too proud to dwell with us, to live in us, to die for us
Humble, humble Jesus We bow our knees We must decrease You must increase We lift You high We bow our knees We must decrease You must increase We lift You high
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For Presidents’ Day 2025 – below are excerpts of a 1838 speech by a 28 year old Abraham Lincoln, honoring the rule of constitutional law as established by the founding fathers and President George Washington; he warns about a potential cult of personality and ambition in leadership that could pull down our freedoms and moral standing.
Is it unreasonable then to expect, that some man possessed of the loftiest genius, coupled with ambition sufficient to push it to its utmost stretch, will at some time, spring up among us? And when such a one does, it will require the people to be united with each other, attached to the government and laws, and generally intelligent, to successfully frustrate his designs.
Distinction will be his paramount object, and although he would as willingly, perhaps more so, acquire it by doing good as harm; yet, that opportunity being past, and nothing left to be done in the way of building up, he would set boldly to the task of pulling down. . . .
Passion has helped us; but can do so no more. It will in future be our enemy. Reason, cold, calculating, unimpassioned reason, must furnish all the materials for our future support and defence. Let those materials be moulded into general intelligence, sound morality, and in particular, a reverence for the constitution and laws: and, that we improved to the last; that we remained free to the last; that we revered his name to the last; that, during his long sleep, we permitted no hostile foot to pass over or desecrate his resting place; shall be that which to learn the last trump shall awaken our WASHINGTON.
Upon these let the proud fabric of freedom rest, as the rock of its basis; and as truly as has been said of the only greater institution, “the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”(Matthew 16:18) ~Abraham Lincoln – excerpts from his speech to the Young Men’s Lyceum of Springfield
(thank you to The Dispatch for highlighting Lincoln’s prescient and cautionary speech on this Presidents’ Day)
Rodin’s Gates of Hell
I bind unto myself today The gift to call on the Trinity The saving faith where I can say Come Three in One, oh One in Three
Be above me, as high as the noonday sun Be below me, the Rock I set my feet upon Be beside me, the wind on my left and right Be behind me, oh circle me with Your truth and light
I bind unto myself today The love of Angels and Seraphim The prayers and prophesies of Saints The words and deeds of righteous men
God’s ear to hear me God’s hand to guide me God’s might to uphold me God’s shield to hide me
Against all powers deceiving Against my own unbelieving Whether near or far I bind unto myself today The hope to rise from the dust of earth
The songs of nature giving praise To Father, Spirit, Living Word The gift to call on the Trinity
I arise today through the strength of heaven Light of sun, radiance of moon Splendor of fire, speed of lightning Swiftness of wind, depth of the sea Stability of earth, firmness of rock
I arise today through God’s strength to pilot me God’s eye to look before me God’s wisdom to guide me God’s way to lie before me God’s shield to protect me
From all who shall wish me ill Afar and a-near Alone and in a multitude Against every cruel, merciless power That may oppose my body and soul
Christ with me, Christ before me Christ behind me, Christ in me Christ beneath me, Christ above me Christ on my right, Christ on my left Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down Christ when I arise, Christ to shield me
Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me
I arise today. ~St. Patrick’s Breastplate
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It was beautiful as God must be beautiful: glacial eyes that had looked on violence and come to terms with it; a body too huge and majestic for the cage in which it had been put; up and down in the shadow of its own bulk it went lifting, as it turned, the crumpled flower of its face to look into my own face without seeing me. It was the colour of the moonlight on snow and as quiet as moonlight, but breathing as you can imagine that God breaths within the confines of our definition of him, agonizing over immensities that will not return. ~R.S. Thomas “The White Tiger”
There are nights that are so still that I can hear the small owl calling far off and a fox barking miles away. It is then that I lie in the lean hours awake listening to the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic rising and falling, rising and falling wave on wave on the long shore by the village that is without light and companionless. And the thought comes of that other being who is awake, too, letting our prayers break on him, not like this for a few hours, but for days, years, for eternity. ~R.S.Thomas “The Other”
Angels, where you soar Up to God’s own light, Take my own lost bird On your hearts tonight; And as grief once more Mounts to heaven and sings, Let my love be heard Whispering in your wings. ~Alfred Noyes “A Prayer”
We confine and cage our concept of God, trying to understand His power and beauty within our limited world. He tells us what He is capable of, yet we diminish His immensity to only what we are able to fathom.
He is an eternal mystery, allowing our beseeching prayers to break over Him again and again and again.
Our grief is carried on wings to God, our prayers desperate for His breath and comfort.
Let our love be heard, let our love be heard, let our love be heard –always and forever.
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