"I Am the Lord of the Dance"

In the book "LILA" by Marilynne Robinson, there are these words: "In a song a note follows the one before because it is that song and not another one."

Perhaps each of our lives are songs like none other. Notes follow notes that become songs that lead into other songs in the continuing days of our lives. Lullabies ...hymns ... jigs and reels and strathspeys ... hymns ... laments ... hymns ... serenades ... hymns ... dirges .... joyous, heaven-opening hymns. We are notes followed by other notes that become songs followed by other songs - all, in their own ways, prayers. It is all good.

"I am the Lord of the Dance," said He!

"What Puzzle Piece Do You Have to Share?

Each morning I drive by the building that is painted like a puzzle.  It's in a rather sad part of town. Those I often see along the road seem to be weary, shuffling up the hill to who-knows-where or trying to get the attention of who-knows-what.  This colorful building seems so out of place in such a grey part of town.

One of the puzzle pieces on the front of this building reads "You are so loved."  I carry that reminder with me each day as I begin my day at work.  This morning the traffic had come to a standstill in front of the building so I was able to read another puzzle piece that was on the side.  The words are something like "What piece of the human puzzle do you have to share with others?"  Perhaps one flows from the other ... knowing that we are "so loved" brings with it a call to share our own piece of the human puzzle with others.  Too many are missing that "you are so loved" puzzle piece that is God-shaped.  Too many think that they have lost it forever when it is always in plain sight.

Just maybe this brightly-colored building is not only for those weary ones in a grey world but also for those of us who drive by.  May we offer a puzzle piece to someone today.

"Dripping with Grace and Love"

When I was a child, Holy Communion was neat and tidy and predictable. The bread was in tiny perfectly-shaped cubes. The juice was offered in brass trays in the tiniest of glass cups ... perfectly measured. Yes, it was neat and tidy and there was no hope of receiving more than allotted by the Communion stewards.

But now? Even this very day? A piece of bread is torn from a loaf in pieces that are never perfect nor are they small. A cup is offered and I dip the bread into the juice. I hear my name and words of remembrance. Sunday morning Communion was nourishment in portions that I needed ... messy and enough and dripping with Grace and Love. I will admit before you all that I licked my fingers after I received Communion for I wanted and needed every last drop of what was offered to me.

Wherever She Finds Herself to Be

She finds herself walking down the same street that she had walked the morning before … in the same clothes that she had worn the day before. At times, she might pause with the passing of each car and try to encourage any man to stop. I have seen her pull her shirt up as a car drove by. One morning, she was in tears as she walked down the road. Her head was down. She didn’t acknowledge the passing of any car. But this morning, she was thumbing, trying to hitch a ride in one direction. A car was heading in the opposite direction. She ran across the street, began thumbing, hoping that the car would stop. It just doesn’t seem to matter to her what direction she is heading this morning. It just doesn’t seem to matter what direction her life is taking.

It would be nothing short of a miracle if her life changed for the better today. I do pray for a miracle for her … often. For today though, I pray that she might be kept safe, wherever she finds herself to be.

"Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen Indeed!"

The birds were awake

at the mere hint of daybreak

and their songs

began to fill the air

as if to praise God

for what had been accomplished …

as if they wanted 

to be the first to shout,

“Christ is risen .. Christ is risen indeed!”

A woman whispered

his name to angels -

faith in the midst

of great darkness

was heard …

“MY LORD”.

She had seen him

beaten …

bloodied …

mocked …

crucified …

dead.

Still she whispered,

“MY LORD.”

She stood in the garden.

Through tear-filled eyes

she stared at an empty tomb.

“MY LORD.

Where have they taken him?”

His name 

has been whispered.

A presence is felt.

Another whisper

is heard - “Mary.”

Oh, such blessed whispers

in a garden -

“My Lord” …

“Mary” …

“My Father and your Father” …

“My God and your God”.

The whispers are no more!

Thank God, 

the whispers are no more!

Shouts, yes SHOUTS

are heard.

Grace and mercy flowed

down from the cross.  

Love walked out 

of a tomb.

Our names are 

whispered in a garden.

Go and tell others …

“CHRIST IS RISEN!  CHRIST IS RISEN INDEED!”

Holy Saturday

Yesterday,

we still heard 

his voice,

agonizing as it 

might have sounded.

“Father, forgive them…

Today, you will be with me…

Dear woman, your son…

My God, my God …

I am thirsty …

It is finished …

Father, into your hands…”

Still, we heard his voice.

Yesterday,

we wondered

why, oh why

is this day called

Good Friday.’

In disguise,

GRACE poured out

from nail-pierced

hands and feet,

from a sword’s wound,

from thorns pressed 

into flesh.

Yet, still, we heard his voice.

Today, 

scattered as we are,

we wait

in deafening silence.

At best, we cry

“How long, O LORD,

will you hide yourself 

forever?”

HOPE is now 

carefully wrapped

in linens and

sealed in a tomb.

“How long, O LORD,

will you hide yourself 

forever?”

In stillness,

earth awaits

the resurrection.

Yet, today, there is no voice.

Good Friday

“There will be clouds on this day …

maybe even rain or a storm,

if only for a brief moment.”

There was a heaviness

in her forecasting

as if she knew something

that I didn't know. 

She would solemnly say,

"It is God's reminder."

My mother left it at that.

She left me moving about

through the Good Fridays

of my childhood

with a heaviness on my heart

that I couldn't explain away.

She left me to dwell

in these Good Fridays alone,

looking to the skies

for the ominous clouds 

to move into my life,

“if only for a brief moment”, 

so that I wouldn’t

jump directly into my Easters.

Good Fridays are just that …

We are left to look up

at a cross and into the eyes

of the Crucified Christ.

We are left to stand

at the foot of the cross

(or run from it)

and, if we choose to stay,

we are left to hear 

Jesus' last words …

"Father, into Thy hands

I commend my spirit.”

We are left to hear

the deafening silence

of Jesus’ death.

The day ends with 

the darkness 

of a crucifixion

and before

we hear words

that we need to hear

from God.

Today is Good Friday and Jesus is crucified.

THE END ... or is it?

anna murdock

3-25-16