For the starry host of heaven
for the velvet black of night
for the moon a brilliant circle
for the clouds reflecting light
for the land in silence resting
for the stillness everywhere
for the dew like grace descending
for the fragrance in the air;
for God is in the evening
for Christ is drawing near
for the Spirit now is longing
to make beauty’s presence clear.
There’s a swamp of secrets here
stretching as far as the eye can see.
Secrets, crossed over with lies, half-submerged,
the muck of deception clings close
and there is something rotten in the state of grace.
You speak about your life, lightly,
and politely comment on the weather.
Your eyes tell a different story.
You are mired here, bone-mired,
in mud that will not let you go.
You are trapped and alone
God of love, thank you for marriage
and the way love’s face
changes with time.
Thank you for love’s beginning;
the tidal pull that draws together
as sure as sea and shore,
the beauty of that meeting,
its strength and intense fragility,
sweet as an apple blossom
pale in the moonlight….
Bitterness, like some evil intravenous
drips into each day
from a clear bag of memories.
He said, she said,
he did, she did,
he was, she was.
Daily, nightly, a steady dose
poisoning the soul.
Too many times the body convulses
shaken with anger
racked with sorrow
The grudge sits squat and heavy
in the middle of the road between two people.
Built of solid rock by a team of experts
schooled in hurt feelings,
every chink is cemented with spite.
There are no windows or doors.
Unmovable as a mountain
it sits in the thoroughfare saying,
“Road closed.”…
The family sits on either side of the bed.
The reedy rhythm raises her chest
slightly up, slightly down.
The quiet breathing slows, pauses,
resumes again, shallower now.
Life seeps away as night deepens.
Death dawns, gentle as silence.
This was the final hour….
At the very edge of hearing,
at that fine line
between what is in and out of reach,
in the wondering moment
where a fragrance is apprehended
but unrecognized,
when you gaze intently
and in the shift between seeing nothing
and seeing something (who knows what),
there,
God arrives.
gather the eyes in
stand and seek them out
the tired, the hopeful,
the sad, the skeptical, the inquiring eyes
gather each pair
with these upraised arms,
this gaze, these words
I gather you in
gently patting you into place
this place
this place here
this smooth hollow
of worship
Christ comes as a gift into your life,
but he doesn’t come
wrapped in shiny paper and ribbons
and you can’t say
“Isn’t that nice,”
as you quickly slide him under the bed
or store him in a dark closet
thinking that someday you’ll find a place to put him.
Christ is a gift that you can’t
pack away neatly in a box,
bringing him out for special holidays
I am a Mennonite pastor currently teaching theology at Conrad Grebel University College in Waterloo, Ontario. I’ve served congregations in Ontario and most recently, Alberta.
I love to write and to lead worship! If you are finding my writing helpful, I would love to hear from you! Feel free to use or adapt the material here, it is all written by me. If printing material, please credit “Copyright Carol Penner www.leadinginworship.com” (and say whether you modified it). If publishing, please contact me for permission. Contact me at carol@leadinginworship.com
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