October 31: November Light

November light, I welcome

your honey-sweet touch

on frosty grass and windows

and on my weary soul

ready for winter’s rest

after a too-long summer

stretching through fall.

October 30: Late-October Morning

Scattered over lawns are leaves 

and Halloween decorations 

and political signs, and garbage

trucks noisily make their way

through the neighborhood

and crossing guards’ whistles

blow and children scurry

toward the school while rain

starts to fall on this symphonic

pastiche of late-October morning.

October 29: Apathy and Indifference

I understand apathy and indifference—

distances and differences among us

make them almost inevitable sometimes.

But to make virtues of such things and

then to vilify empathy and compassion

makes no sense and leads only to pain

for everyone caught in this toxic spiral,

which ends in fear, isolation and death.

To glorify apathy is to worship death.

October 28: Light Finds a Way

Light finds a way

through space, through 

atmospheric layers, 

through clouds, rain,

branches and leaves,

through windows,

into houses and schools

and churches and offices,

illuminating everything

it touches, making

visible all that is.

Light finds a way

and so does Love.

October 27: My Daughter's Birthday

When I am older 

and memory wanes, I hope 

I shall always remember 

on my daughter’s birthday 

the kindness of the midwives 

and the NICU nurses

and the faith that found me 

as I sat in a tiny room deep 

in the bowels of the hospital, 

alone and weeping, 

praying that all would be well. 

And somehow it was.

October 26: Give Us Peace Prayer

“Dona nobis pacem”: Give us peace.

When we are weary from endless cycles of bad news, give us peace.

When we fear for the lives of immigrants and trans people, give us peace.

When we are overwhelmed and don’t know what to do, give us peace.

When the night is long and the way is clouded, give us peace.

When the world is upside down, give us peace.

When the most vulnerable among us are suffering, give us peace—

But also give us justice.

In the silence of this moment, may we experience peace,

And may we pledge ourselves to action that will create justice for all.

May we face reality without flinching.

May we grieve what is lost.

And may we act together in ways that bring hope to our hopeless world.

Amen!

October 25: To Live Among the Trees

I yearn to live among the trees,

sheltered in a simple house,

hardwoods and evergreens

on all sides, rabbits and squirrels

as my only immediate neighbors,

and views of light filtered

through branches and leaves,

perhaps a nearby stream,

and always the songs of birds.

October 24: In Front of ICE Headquarters

On the sidewalk in front of ICE headquarters

on Pittsburgh’s South Side, 50 of us gathered

on a chilly late-October early morning, sun

barely up in the sky, the city just awakening,

and together we prayed and sang and built

human community in the face of inhumanity,

in the face of hatred and secret-police cruelty,

not expecting the hearts of those in power to melt,

but rather to keep our own hearts wide open,

our souls aflame with caring and compassion.

We prayed for justice, for mercy, for kindness.

We prayed for love and dignity for all, for healing,

for understanding, for peace. And the people said,

Amen!

October 23: Physical Exam

Today is my annual physical exam,

which I have dreaded for weeks,

because my existence, my being,

is reduced to vital statistics: weight,

blood pressure, cholesterol, platelets,

temperature, medications, digestion—

all of which is very important, no doubt, 

but they never ask the big questions,

like, “How is it with your soul?”

When is my metaphysical exam?

October 22: Pittsburgh's Gray Skies

Pittsburgh’s gray skies have arrived,

and will stay for most of six months,

often an opaque steel-toned ceiling

over the city, over bridges and rivers,

above the houses next to the tracks

and streets winding through hills—

as if the Israelites’ pillar of cloud

had somehow flattened and ceased

any perceptible movement, pausing

here for winter, then moving on.

October 21: God's Voice

God’s voice rings clear 

through autumn skies,

whispers quietly

in the the valleys’ morning mists,

urges attention to what matters most 

and what is beautiful,

cajoles, pushes and pleads 

toward loving action,

comforts those souls that cry out 

for peace in the midst of pain,

sings songs that invite each 

and every one of us to join in chorus.

October 20: Blue Skies in the Distance

Blue skies in the distance 

are slightly faded

with fall colors and sun 

has not yet appeared

overhead among last night’s

rain cloud remnants

while barely perceptible 

wind stirs only the highest

branches of nearby trees 

and everything waits 

for inevitably what is 

next in a weary world.

October 19: Each Breath a Prayer

As fall settles in and cold weather appears,

We seek places of warmth, places of comfort.

Amid the absurdities and atrocities of our world,

We seek places of truth and healing.

In the noisiness of screaming discord and hatred,

We seek places of quiet and compassion.

Let us take a moment of silence to sense among us

The warmth, comfort, truth, healing, quiet and compassion

That we long for and need.

May each breath bring us closer to warmth in the cold.

May each breath bring us closer to healing in the face of pain.

May each breath bring us closer to compassion that overwhelms fear.

And may we breathe in peace and breathe out love, now and always,

Amen!

October 18: We Still Have One Another

It’s not as if there’s nothing left to love:

we still have trees and hills and rain and sun;

we still have autumn days like this with air

so cool and crisp and golden through and through;

we still have one another as we move

with hearts and hands and spirits joined as one

with grace and joy and healing human care.

October 2: Apologies and Forgiveness

It is difficult, 

perhaps impossible,

to apologize 

to someone else

when you know 

you are wrong 

until you have 

forgiven yourself.

October 16: At the Dog Park

At the dog park, everyone focuses

on the dogs, watching them play,

now and then asking, what kind

of dog is that, or gently intervening

if one of the dogs starts growling,

but the people never seem to growl

or bark or scream or debate things.

Everyone focuses on the dogs, and

therein lies the secret to peace on earth.

October 17: At the Bloodwork Lab

Even before I walked through the door

of the bloodwork lab, I hear pounding,

as if someone were hammering

on something, but it turned out to be

a frustrated woman, with baby in tow,

trying to check in using a touchpad device

that didn’t seem to be working right,

and she kept striking the touchpad

harder and harder, frustrated and angry.

Several people gathered around her

trying to help, but unsuccessfully.

It turns out it required the lightest

of touches, and, only when she stopped 

pounding was she able to proceed.

October 15: As Day Begins

As the sun rises over the lake, 

layers form: rippling water, 

reflections of trees and hills,

trees and hills themselves, 

translucent mist, yellowish light 

trending toward pink in the east,

and gray clouds waiting to be burned 

away. Rarely awake this time of day, 

I am astounded by the beauty 

of the rising sun as day begins.

October 14: Sun Rises

As the sun rises 

over the hills and lake,

it’s impossible to believe 

that all is lost,

that there is nothing 

good left in the world.

This sunrise sings

of ever-unfolding possibility

and the absolute necessity 

of healing beauty.

October 13: Trees Will Be Bare

In another month, trees will be bare and sunshine scarce,

and autumn’s exhilarating chill will move toward winter’s cold,

and all of earth and creatures thereof shall start to slumber.

But today is golden and lovely, and the long road beckons.

October 12: Listen to Everything Prayer

Never underestimate the power of listening.

Listen to everything. Listen with your heart and mind wide open.

Listen to the cries for help, the cries of pain.

Listen to the calls for movement, the calls for action.

Listen to ideas, old and new, that challenge you.

Listen to brilliance and blathering, mindful of which is which.

Listen to stories, especially those that move you.

Listen to your own heart when the night is long and you are lost.

Listen now to the silence in this place of listening.

May we always remember to listen.

May we listen openly and attentively.

And may we act on what we hear with love and grace.

Amen!

October 11: Pumpkins and Mums

While this summer’s drought has left

autumn’s leaves more muted than bright,

still it is October, with lovely cool mornings

and longer nights and pumpkins and mums—

flashes of color amid brown leaves and grass

faded with months of overbearing sunshine.

Today I shall toast fall with cider, freshly made

from apples grown just down the road, sweet

as any autumn day tinged with winter’s approach.

October 10: End Is Near

The end is near, 

though just how near

we do not know. 

The road is long,

though just how long 

we cannot tell.

The way is steep, 

though just how steep

we cannot say. 

This much we know:

now is the time,

here is the road, 

this is the way.

October 9: Sanctum of Peace

In huts you shall dwell seven days. All natives in Israel shall dwell in huts, so that your generations will know that I made the Israelites dwell in huts when I brought them out of the land of Egypt. I am the LORD your God. (Leviticus 23:42-43)

Keep before you 

the pillar of cloud, 

leading forward 

through wilderness, 

and make for yourself 

and those with you 

a hut from the same 

ethereal substance, 

leaky perhaps, certainly 

imperfect, a shelter, a refuge, 

a sanctum of peace for now.

October 8: The Old Men

The old men drink coffee and talk

about politics and sports and weather

while they do odd jobs around the church,

fixing a door closer, mounting a TV screen,

arranging and rearranging chairs and tables,

every Tuesday morning, week after week.

They love the church, and they love each other,

though they never say so until one of them dies,

and even then they just say something like,

“You know, Bob, he was a hell of a guy.”