April 30: Storm Raged

The storm raged and blew,

Knocking down the power lines.

Now all is quiet.

April 29: Growing Green

Over the neighbor’s roof 

across the street,

the big oak tree 

has changed

from bare-branched 

to growing green,

each day deeper

as the tree takes shape,

moving from skeletal

to verdant softness.

While I cannot see

individual leaves,

their collective effect

is like a Spring halo,

a reminder of what

transformation looks like

from a block away.

April 28: To Cry, To Laugh

To cry, to laugh, to sigh, 

to sing: sobs and shrieks 

and moans and quavers—

music of the human heart

produced by breath

that sometimes wavers

but, drawn back in, returns again

until the last, and even then

it catches like a yawn 

from soul to soul

without an end.

April 27: How Can We Keep from Singing Prayer

Amid the tumult and the strife of this world,

Amid the tempest that round us roars,

Amid the earth’s endless lamentation,

What song echoes in our souls?

What far-off hymn beckons us?

What music rings and sings through us?

Let us pause for a moment to sense

The song emerging from the quiet.

Though storms may shake and darkness may close in,

Though tyrants might rage and despots might threaten,

Though every vile thing might appear triumphal,

Still we know that love will prevail in heaven and earth,

Still we know that truth lives through us, undefiled,

Still we know the joy of compassionate, justice-seeking community.

When love inspires inmost calm, how can we keep from singing?

May it always be so. Amen!

April 26: Cranky

Even now, cranky as I am

cursing, kicking things,

disgusted with 

the state of EVERYTHING,

even now, I swear 

I love this life—I love

my family, the church,

this house, this street,

the school nearby,

everything I’ve screwed up,

everything I’ve accomplished,

things I’ve forgotten,

things I’ll never learn—

I swear I love it all.

But my dog prefers it

when I’m not kicking things.

April 25: Take a Breath

Take a breath, take a break,

Take a beat and only then

Begin, get stuck, get lost,

Get mad, lose the thread.

Take a breath . . .

April 24: Quality of Light

The angle of the sun has changed

And quality of light has shifted—

Not yet summer’s gold, but yellow

Like the flowers that first bloom

When it’s still hard to believe

That spring is finally arriving.

April 23: Humming Along

Our lives are very different

and yet so much the same:

each one suffers, each laughs

and cries, each reaches

for something and dreams

and fails and succeeds

but not as expected—or

exactly as expected until

something dreadful happens

and nothing is ever the same,

then maybe one day

things start to get better,

but at last it all ends.

Meanwhile, like an earworm

that just won’t stop,

a great song emerges, and,

if we are lucky, we learn

to hum along.

April 22: Stories

Instructions are helpful

But adequate at best.

Commands are severe

But sometimes needed.

Suggestions are kind

But often impractical.

Stories are challenging

But founts of all wisdom.

April 21: Death of a Pope

The Holy Father died the day

after Easter, just one day

after meeting J.D. Vance,

whose pale empty eyes cried out

for exorcism from the demons

devouring his soul,

destroying the nation,

denying Truth for evil’s sake,

and I am left wondering

if somehow it was all

too much for the pontiff’s

good but tired heart.

April 20: Flowing Water Prayer

As we pause for a moment of reflection,

Let us experience together in this place,

A sense of love flowing like water among us,

Flowing to those places where truth has been buried,

Flowing to those places where justice has been crushed,

Flowing to those places hope has become parched and brittle,

Flowing to those places where compassion has been all but forgotten.

Let us take a moment of silence to imagine, together,

Water flowing like a warm, healing wave,

Over all that is torn, all that is thirsty, all that is in need.

May we open channels for love to flow like water,

For righteousness to flow like a river,

And justice like a mighty stream,

Now and always, Amen!

April 19: Unthinkable

“And very early on the first day of the week, 

when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb.” (Mark 16:3)

Sometimes the unexpected,

unthinkable, unexplainable,

occurs, breaking through

human history and experience,

rattling our tired brains,

providing equal measures

of hope and bewilderment,

wonder and abject terror;

but to discover this amazing

thing, you must first

visit the tomb.

April 18: Be Like Weeds

Here in the suburbs

we must mow our lawns

but the grass and weeds

resist with a tenacity

that is admirable

and exemplary.

Be like weeds;

live like grass.

Eventually

the mowers

will tire.

April 17: Unlearning Fear

“But Moses said to the people, ‘Do not be afraid . . .’” (Exodus 14:13)

Caught between Pharaoh’s army and the sea,

We cannot see our way across, our way through,

Unless and until we open to unlearning fear—

Fear intended to immobilize and demoralize,

Fear that triggers a deep well of dread and worry,

Fear that must be faced squarely to be overcome.

When we hear the rattle of chariots behind us,

Join hands, move forward, and leave fear behind.

April 16: Not Merely a Processional

If Palm Sunday was actually a protest

and not merely a processional,

if we see ourselves as active participants

rather than passive observers of our lives,

if we are the revealers of the truth

instead of reciters of ancient liturgies,

then it becomes clear that it is up to us

to enact the resurrection

and not just wave at it.

April 15: Faith of a Tree

For months I’ve been watching

The tiny dogwood through

Our front window as it moves

Ever so slowly but inevitably

Toward blooming, bathing

In sunlight and rain, staying

True to the course even in snow.

Nothing on earth is stronger

Than the wordless faith of a tree.

April 14: So Many Things and Nothing

Today I face 

the dilemma of a day off:

get things done, 

or do nothing?

So many things desperately 

need to be done,

and I so desperately 

need to do nothing at all.

And so I write this poem. 

For only poems

do so many things 

and nothing at all.

April 13: Lifelines for One Another Prayer

In the storm of fear and chaos, it is easy to lose our way,

easy to lose track of who we are and where we are,

easy to forget why we are here.

In the storm of fear and chaos, we need lifelines,

lifelines connecting us to others who care for us,

lifelines to our deepest values and to our own souls.

In the storm of fear and chaos, we must remember

to pause, to create space and time,

for lifelines, for breathing, for connecting.

Let us pause now for a moment of quiet to sense

in this gathered community that which connects all to all,

that which allows us to breathe, to live and to love.

Amid the fear and chaos all around us,

may we connect to those things that matter most.

May we make space to breathe.

And may we be lifelines for one another,

now and always, Amen!

April 12: Buds on the Dogwood

Buds on the dogwood

take time before blossoming,

as do words take time

before opening themselves

into lines of poetry.

April 11: Not Knowing

It is so difficult

to hold the truth

of not knowing.

April 10: Dogwood Branches

Branches of the dogwood, 

no longer small

but not yet large,

are covered with morning

rain falling so gently, 

almost invisibly,

as if moistening 

paper for watercolor

blossoms almost here, 

Spring’s brush pausing

briefly before dappling 

color everywhere.

April 9: Spring Takes Hold

Outside our front window

The dogwood’s branches

Rarely attracted birds

Through months of winter

But today as buds appear

Two chickadees perched there

Engaged in conversation

As well as a passing robin.

New life draws new life

As spring takes hold.

April 8: April Snow

April snow surprises 

though it is not as rare 

as we might think—

like laughter in times of grief

or first-round tournament upsets

—and it is good to respond to all

with welcoming wonder.

April 7: Stay Close

Stay close to things that matter,

close in heart and mind and body,

close in spirit, close in awareness,

close as naked branch to gray sky,

close as hand to guitar string,

close as deer’s hoof to soft earth.

When things feel distant, stay close.

April 6: Time of Opening Prayer

While we may want to close ourselves up,

to protect ourselves from injury and harm

during this time of cruelty and injustice,

we also know that we must sometime open up.

We know that Spring is a time of opening:

trees and flowers open into bloom,

the earth opens to sun and rain, 

hibernating animals open to new life,

and we open ourselves to possibility.

Let us pause for a moment of quiet

as we consider how and when

we might open ourselves to possibility

and to hope, in a time of despair.

Like the budding earth all around us,

may we open our inmost selves.

May our fears burn away like mist.

And may our souls unfurl their wings and fly.

Amen.