rises and falls,
twists and turns,
narrows and widens,
smooths and roughens,
beckons and repels,
floods and dries out,
hides and reveals itself.
Otherwise, it’s just an endless
loop for tortured middle school
track teams or a walkway
from the parking lot
to the soulless
superstore of death.
But even those tracks
and crossings hold endless
possibility and change
for those who are awake.
Journeys by sea allowed time,
enabled journeyers to sense
just how far they were going,
made it possible to view the trip
not just as an inconvenience
but as an event in and of itself.
Today things are different.
When we greet travelers,
we say “Was your flight OK?”
instead of “How was your passage?”
On the date of my birth, I am reminded
that each of us came into being
amid pain and joy in equal measure,
that, not just endings, but also beginnings
are bittersweet affairs and challenging,
that, merry as we might be or pretend,
beneath the mirth, lurk tears and cries,
that wisdom is not so much a pursuit
as a pause in real time, a dash or cadence,
and in that pause is all that can be
known or sung or sighed or wept.
drizzly and cold, everything
green and wet, like walking
into a florist’s cooler but
without the sharp aroma
of funereal lilies and instead
the smell of early summer
strangely mixed with the
cool damp of early spring.
of my childhood and youth
with languorous, agendaless
time out of time,
hours and days spent
without cruel purpose,
vacating the notion
of attentive good behavior
and letting go into deep play
and easy fantasy
amid the splendor
of summer’s golden haze.
With cool air and fairytale clouds,
With words uttered before a parade,
With tears and nerves and ceremony,
With a ridiculously large breakfast out,
With dogs running and playing at the park,
With hamburgers and a movie,
With family, with care, with love.
Remember and live.
in an often-comfortless world?
How might we provide comfort
amid so much discomfort?
What does it mean to be comforted
in uncomfortable times?
As we ponder these questions,
let us find comfort right now,
Right here, as we sit here together,
without clear or easy answers,
Without magical solutions
to intractable problems,
but just as we are.
Let us find comfort
in the warmth and love of this beautiful,
imperfect community that strives
for compassion and justice.
Let us find comfort
in the quiet of this moment together.
May we find comfort
in reaching out to one another.
May we build bridges of comfort
to all those who suffer.
And may we be the comfort
we hope to find in the world.
Amen.
no wrong answers—
in fact, there are
lots of very wrong answers.
It’s that we gloss over
the questions too quickly,
or we answer them
only once and for all,
thinking that there’s
just one correct answer,
when there are many,
not only in this moment,
but over the course
of our lifetimes
as our perspectives change
and we learn
that easy answers aren’t
answers at all.
End-of-the-world weather again—
this time because of a heat dome
over eastern Greenland,
pushing the arctic circle
southward, bringing temperatures
way below normal here in Pittsburgh
and elsewhere—
meaning, I’ll need to bundle up
when I deliver the invocation
at the town’s Memorial Day
gathering—so it will seem like
November in late May
as we remember those who died
as the terrible cost of war.
The marching band
will play a patriotic medley,
but in my head it will be
an apocalypse calypso.
Let it fall on grass and trees and flowers,
on cars and houses, streets and sidewalks.
Let it fall on rabbits and squirrels,
groundhogs, birds and earthworms.
Let it fall on children walking to school,
on morning commuters rushing
to and from trains and automobiles,
on troubled heads and aching hearts,
on parched and thirsty souls, all
longing to be drenched,
to be soothed,
to be healed.
grow larger, not only does the light
get in, but dust and dirt
and moisture and, by and by,
all manner of bugs
and vermin as well.
But also, yes, light—
which we need so much.
When the team has played well and still
Come up short, when dreams of a rally
Are brought to earth by the reality of defeat
And the adrenaline of hope trickles away,
Replaced by the bitter gravity of loss and regret.
Still, in life and sport, there’s always tomorrow.
There is no other time like now, this very instant,
This moment that flows in the river of time around us,
That carries us forward, ready or not, to what is next,
This moment that, for some, may be enormously significant,
And for others, may be just one in a tedious passing succession,
This moment that is always filled with challenges and blessings,
This moment that calls for tears and laughter, sighs and curses.
Let us take a moment of silence to consider this moment
In its fullness and emptiness and discern what message it may hold.
Whether or not it is all that we need, this moment is all that we have,
This passing time that is shared by all, not walled off like property
But experienced together, without barriers, without boundaries.
May we live this moment fully, together, as shared keepers of time.
May we lean into what this moment might be calling us to do.
And may we abide in the peace of the present, whatever is next.
Amen.
Boxer, semi-pro baseballer, physician,
chemist, son of a disabled Civil War vet,
iconoclast art collector, marketeer,
visionary, fierce American individualist
Albert Barnes, by hook and by crook,
amassed what’s now a $30 billion
art collection–post-impressionist gems,
early-modern triumphs, including more
Cezannes and Renoirs than you can
shake a stick at–and he spent his time
strolling through his gallery, carefully
arranging and rearranging each wall’s
ensemble of art until it made sense to him.
Even now, though miles away from his home,
his ghost ambles through the rooms,
tilts his head, makes tiny adjustments,
sighs, polishes his glasses, and moves on.
surrounded by concrete,
find light even here
among tall buildings,
find water even far
from any streams,
find nutrients
even without much soil.
Look to the trees
to find what you need.
khakis (2), workout shorts, running shoes,
polo shirts (2), dress shirt, sense of humor,
toiletries, patience (x3), cell phone charger,
kindness, cap, sunscreen, deep breaths,
sunglasses, love for all, something beautiful.
are woven together
in the form of prayer
known as singing which
rises beyond our voices
to the heavens where
music coalesces
not into a crown of thorns
but a wreath atop the holy
throne of love.
So is it written, so is it said,
so may it be sung.
Going around and around
In circles, not just getting
Nowhere fast, but seeing
Exactly the same things
Over and over without end.
Sometimes you get stuck
Digging deeper and deeper
Into the ground, not finding
Buried treasure or insights,
But sinking further and further
From view, from light, from air.
Sometimes you get stuck
Climbing up and up and up,
Thinking you’re getting somewhere
But, never having looked around,
You one day notice you haven’t
Gotten anywhere at all.
Sometimes you just stop
All motion and look around
And breathe and look again
And give thanks for being there
And notice that you’re not alone,
And then the real work begins.
that tends to others, love that takes time
and takes care, love that looks after each
and every growing thing, love that soothes
and heals the scratches and bruises of life,
that holds broken hearts and fractured feelings,
love that perseveres in impossible circumstances,
love that catches the falling and the fallen,
love that is fierce and gentle, soft and strong.
Let us take a moment of silence to consider
the love that surrounds and sustains us.
May we give thanks each day for life and love, may we sing
hymns of praise for all that love makes possible,
and may we become instruments of love in all we do.
Amen!