To be human again With all my heart, I wish to be human, together, to see myself in your eyes, to feel your heart in my heart, beating with one great pulse that echoes in the canyon of our soul. There was one moment when we sat beside each other and watched a new sun stretch its arms and fling light across the inky darkness, yearning for that first fresh day. The words that shaped the world still dripped from tender leaves.  Do you remember that sunrise when we could taste the light like honey and lemon on our lips? When the birds sang for the first time? There is always a push that ..read more

Listen for the groaning “Give us a king!”  the people cried and tossed their parched souls into the air, soon to land on the dirt like rose petals thrown on his path to so-called greatness. Some say this is a time of grasping, but is it not a time of yielding instead? We are seduced by the oily fear which whispers the greatest lie: that we are separate, that we do not share one great life. I wish I could tell you it will be painless, but birth never is. The watchful eye will not blink as voices clamor and wisdom searches for a foothold  to press against chaos once again. We ask ..read more

In the End is the Word We are born listening, collecting words in our souls like chrysalises in glass jars, each word a shade of color, a hue, each one reflecting the light. In the end, we die with only one word on our lips, one word which stands silently by our side as our soul looks across the wide open field once more, where sparrows fly, only now to see the horizon which calls us onward. We carry this word with us, a jewel in our hands, our pearl of great price, offering it to the one who stands by the golden door, the one who watches with loving eyes. We press our lips gently to our o ..read more

Enchantment A scorched tree stands bare against the full moon, limbs like arms straining to reach higher in a perpetual prayer to the ones we were told are always watching. On the bleakest day the cold spirit of greed scours the bare ground, searching for the one remaining morsel to claim and hold high in the pursuit of profit, an offering to the hollow god whose thirst can never be quenched. A lady walks softly on the ground, her bag of seeds held close as she gently tosses promises into the earth, who is glad to welcome the hope of new life taking root. The wisest know the truest prayers ..read more

Trinity Sunday, 2024 John 3:1-15 Today is Trinity Sunday, that interesting Sunday when we so often focus on finding ways to describe the interrelationship between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; between Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer; between Lover, Beloved, and Love. Rather than pursue such theological gymnastics, my heart was led this year to explore how we experience the living and healing presence of the Creator, the Living Force that permeates all our life and binds us together. So, this is a different sort of Trinity Sunday sermon Sometimes with a story, it is important to know what was ..read more

A Wild Healing Something is being born, and with all birth comes blood tinged with a certain pain.  Precarious: pertaining to prayer. We reach out, yearning for solid ground in raging storms. A hand etches lines in soft stone, coaxing sounds out of their hiding places. Letters and phrases line up like bashful choristers standing in fresh robes. Imagination is the great force that calls forth flesh from that place where holy things rest, waiting for that clear moment when– Let there be. A wild healing is upon us now, a time of breaking down and breaking through, a tearing of tight bo ..read more

Our Lady of Grace: A Reflection on Compassion and Presence Stuart Higginbotham Images matter. Image, on one level, can be a superficial thing when we focus only on outward appearance, seeking to fit into a mold or gain approval. Image, on a more profound level, is a way to engage the dynamic truths that draw our souls to reflect and gauge on the meaning of life. Human beings have drawn to the potential of images to describe the great mysteries of life since we first drew cave paintings on walls by firelight. Sometimes words fall short, and an image can better approach the questions we carry i ..read more

The Green One Rises Lie down, lie down now. Press your ear to the cool earth. Listen for the steady heartbeat, your face wet from the morning dew. Stretch out slowly and notice how the ground does not conform to you, that your spine molds to the soil. Your body will recognize itself given time. Look up now, with gentle eyes. Maple leaves, like hawks, are best seen from beneath. Now, the Green One rises and speaks with a voice like gently scraping stones. You hear for the first time a story you have always known. The most ancient truths are written with roots, not ink. Reach out your hands ..read more

Root Mother I do not see you as much as I feel you– know you, the way I know my bones hold me upright as I walk, or the pressure of bare feet on cool grass. You, Root Mother, draw my eyes downward to the earth, where the heart of life beats, the deep throb beneath all the distractions we call life. Root Mother, yes, that is the best name I can give you, although your true name sounds more like water over stone or the creak of growing corn. Some truths are hidden, tucked away in the holy darkness, far from my dissecting mind, yet I know they are there, safe in your hands. Who says I must u ..read more

Snake oil salesman The wagon creaks as it rolls, wheels strained from the load of hollow promises stacked full. How is it that the snake oil salesman knows the perfect time to enter the town, calling out to the crowd, enticing them with bold claims of quick and certain cures? Is it something in him? Is it something in me? He arranges all the items they believe they need, with well-designed labels and slick branding. The vials glint in the sun, as do his eyes when he sees their attention fixed on him, their yearning for a better day warped by his hunger to be adored. All day he offers a f ..read more