February 9: Too Much Nose Blowing

Too much nose blowing

in this lovely hotel room

where I wish I'd slept.

December 31: Icy Death and Beauty

The year ends as it began, with snow

falling on the hills of Pittsburgh, and

something like hope rises and falls

with the snow, something like frozen

tears descend and are carried by the wind

into the unknown days and months

ahead, with a new number and name

but the same challenges and heartaches

and perhaps unseen opportunities to rise

ourselves or else fall and keep falling,

drifting to the ground, slowly building

layer upon layer of icy death and beauty,

slowly building a blanket for the earth,

which will without doubt turn to spring.

December 30: Penultimate Day

On this penultimate day of the year, once again

I praise all that has comprised the past 12 months—

all the beauty and horror, all the challenge and ease,

all the speedy days and slow hours. all the sorrows,

all the joys, all glimpses of the world we prefigure,

all regrets felt and released, all good, all bad,

all I have forgotten, all I will always remember.

I praise all because, without praise, I have no song;

and without song, there can be no healing, no me!

December 29: Fourth Day of Christmastide

The houses on our street are still

festooned with lights and wreaths

on this fourth day of Christmastide,

and, having just returned from seeing

family in Yellow Springs, I give thanks

for time off and contemplate the snow

that just began to fall in tiny flakes

in our backyard in the leafy suburbs

of Pittsburgh, almost leafless now

in midwinter as time moves on

and the new year creeps ever closer..

December 28: New Year Prayer

As the long, weary year winds down,

As we turn the page on a challenging time,

As we prepare for whatever next year may bring,

As we hope and pray for better times for all,

We pause to give thanks and to make space—

Thanks for everything that went right, or right enough.

Space for something new and healing to enter our lives.

Thanks for the return of the light in the darkest of days.

Space for even more light to come through the cracks.

Thanks for the love that sustains all life.

Space to recognize and welcome love as it comes our way.

We pause now to give thanks and make space

for whatever calls to us in this moment.

May the coming year bring more peace

more compassion, more justice, and more love,

And may we be the light of the world this year and always.

Amen!

December 27: Trying to Be Free

Singing Leonard Cohen songs 

at the care home, I was asked 

to play Bird on the Wire by a fellow

who, until just a couple of years ago, 

rode his bicycle everywhere around

town before Parkinson’s struck.

Afterward, he mentioned the beauty

of the song’s poetry, its complexity

and richness. And later that night

I imagined that bird on the wire

still trying in his way to be free.

December 26: Cohen and Christmas Music

I’m giving a concert at the assisted living place

where my parents have lived for five years,

as I often do. This time it will be a mix

of Leonard Cohen and Christmas music,

and a few of the residents, including my parents

will sing along with some of the songs.

It never ceases to amaze me how music

can reach into some of the deepest recesses

of the human mind and heart, and light up

even the darkest places with notes of grace.

December 25: Presents Open

Presents open, wrapping paper organized

into trash and recycling, cinnamon rolls

rising on the table, turkey defrosting,

Kate Rusby singing Christmas carols,

last night’s candlelight service lingering

in memory, another year nearly done,

and all is well, or well enough, for now.

Spirits of the holidays, we give thanks! 

December 24: Shadow of a Sleigh

At age nine, I believed in Santa 

primarily as the spirit of Christmas 

and not so much as corporeal reality.

Children understand myth in a way

that adults do not—perhaps can not.

Children understand how things

can be real and more than real

at the same time, and at some point

grown-ups reject or forget this truth.

Anyway, that Christmas when I was nine,

around two or three o’clock in the morning,

I awoke to a noise that drew me

to the window, where I saw the shadow

of a sleigh on freshly fallen snow

in our backyard, clear as day in the bright moonlight.

Looking back, I see that night as a demarcation point,

not between childhood and adulthood,

but between believing and understanding.

December 23: Equanimity for All

One whole block of houses nearby  is lit up

with strings of Christmas lights and decorations,

each yard different but equally intense—

some with huge 12-foot inflatables,

grinches and snowmen and Santas,

and reindeer and carolers and candy canes;

others with trees festooned top-to-bottom

with red and green and white lights,

and, among all the garish, flashing things,

one lovely, simple, terra cotta nativity scene.

Jesus looks so cozy, tucked into the creche,

undisturbed by holiday displays, sleeping

peacefully, with enough equanimity for all.

December 22: Pace of Christmas

It used to take Christmas forever

to get here, but now it comes hurtling

toward us like a runaway train, each

year taking on more speed, recklessly

hurrying onward, toward almost now,

toward December 25 with blinders on.

Dear Spirit of Christmas Present, slow

yourself, take a breath, take your time!

December 21: Stillness and the Season Prayer

Where do we find stillness amid tumult and unrest?

Where do we find harmony amid disunity and violence?

Where do we find light amid shadows and darkness?

Where do we find warmth amid coldness and apathy?

Let us pause for a moment of silence to consider

Where we might find stillness, harmony, light and warmth

During this season and in all the seasons of our lives.

May we create moments of stillness to restore our souls.

May we find harmonious ways of living closer to our hearts.

May we seek light even in the darkest of circumstances.

And may we generate warmth during these coldest of times.

May it be so now and always. Amen!

December 20: Father Christmas

When the Puritans banned Christmas

because they thought it somehow Popish,

a bedraggled personification of the holiday

arose in the form of Father Christmas,

dressed in out-of-date ruffles, with white

hair and thin white beard, like a refugee

from a bygone era of festive merry-making.

After the Restoration, Father Christmas

took on weight and became more jolly

and a bit magical, with a twinkling eye

and the power to transform even dour

doubters into dancers and singers of carols.

And so it is metaphor became myth, and,

as so often happens, we have all but

forgotten the meaning behind the legend.

December 19: Grateful People

Today I am grateful for grateful people,

who make life so much better and pleasant,

who remind me to be grateful myself,

who, sometimes without knowing it,

completely redeem the worst of days.

December 18: Patches of Snow

Patches of snow 

remain as bitter cold

has lifted for now. 

But I long for icy blasts

of winter, for falling snow,

for skies of gray,

for weather that fits 

the mood of the world.

In cold, it’s easier 

to appreciate warmth.

December 17: Something Sturdy

We shall try to make something sturdy

with our actions, with our thoughts,

with our hands, hearts, and minds,

something that can withstand winter

winds, something that will remain

long after each and all of us is gone.

And still it shall persist, fierce and loving.

December 16: Board Meeting Dread

I know that dreading

tonight’s board meeting

only means I’ll suffer twice,

but some things seem

to call out for dread,

especially in mid-winter

when each icy step can be

treacherous and

everybody just wants

to be home.

December 15: All the Things of December

All the things of December, all the lights,

all the shopping, all the waiting and worrying,

all the overwhelming stress, all the urges to flee,

all the memories of better and worse times,

all the failed attempts to simplify everything,

all the ways things can and do go wrong,

all the ways things go right, or right enough—

all the things of December proceed apace.

December 14: Holiday Hullaballoo Prayer

We pause now in the middle of the holiday hullaballoo,

in the middle of what is often too much food and drink,

too much one-thing-after-another, too much activity,

too much driving and flying from here to there and back,

too much stress and worrying, too much too much—

we pause in the middle of all this and more to listen,

to listen to the stillness beneath the chaos,

to listen to the quiet beneath the noise,

to listen to the peace beneath the shouting.

Let us pause now for a moment of silence

to listen to whatever lies beneath this moment.

May we remember to pause during this holiday season.

May we make space for stillness every now and then.

And may we embrace moments of quiet,

recognizing them for what they are—holy moments,

moments when we regain our bearings and find our way

by the light of whatever star we choose to follow.

Amen!

December 13: Snow Is Coming

They say the snow is coming on 

this deep gray winter day, and with 

it how I hope there might descend 

a quilt of peace and calm with pure

white batting, quieting our souls

and covering our care-worn hearts.

December 12: Church Work

Church work would be so easy

if it weren’t for all the people!

Every day, someone says to me,

“Here’s my anxiety. Please hold it,”

and every day, I acknowledge it

and try not to take it on as mine,

but it’s always lurking just there,

that feeling of tension in my chest,

that unwanted gift I put down

again and again because it really

is not mine, and I have enough

anxieties of my own. I will listen,

always. I will strive to be present,

and I will be kind as much as I can.

But, no, dear congregant, I cannot

take on your anxiety as my own.

Prayers accepted and freely given

today, tomorrow and always, Amen!

December 11: Winter Deepens

Sun shining brightly in the east as snow

drifts down, just a few flakes at a time,

while winter deepens, moving beneath

lawns and trees and shrubs, down

into the earth, freezing everything

it touches, cold moving into every

crack and crevice, every clod of dirt.

Meanwhile, my mind begins to move

deeper as well, into the icy recesses

of bittersweet memory and imagination.

December 10: Tops of Trees

Wind is moving in the tops of trees

and our windchimes are sounding

loud and bold as Christmas bells

as the last of the schoolchildren

hurries down the hill before the school

bell rings to begin the morning—

an idyllic scene that seems made up

but is just as real as every awful

thing that also happens in the world.

It all is real and true and none of it

tells the whole of the story, but every

bit of it is interconnected and holy.

December 9: Blue Sky in December

Blue sky on this December morn

when I would prefer something gray

and comforting like a weighted blanket

on a day when there is too much to do

and meetings when I would rather sleep.

But night will come and soon, and all

will once again be still and quiet and cold.