Musings: Notes From My Daybook

I have been reading, again, from Fosdick's The Meaning of Prayer.  This classic work always calls me to think more deeply about prayer--and perhaps more importantly, to practice prayer more faithfully.

In talking about the common misperception that prayer is unnecessary because God knows all, Fosdick presents an interesting response.  He says that we can recognize that God partners with human beings in the practice of reason.  Likewise, God leaves it to humans to work and to build and to create--art, music, and even benefits of science and medecine  

Yesterday evening at Spring Fest (our congregation's spring celebration of music and art) I listened with amazement and pleasure to a high school chorus, a group from our congregation, and a drama troup from the local Jewish community center. I also walked through our gallery and enjoyed the art and fine crafts of so many of our people.

Thank you Lord, for the wonderful way you make human beings. You give us the capacity of expressing praise and wonder and hurt and redemption through music and poetry and the arts. Through the gifts of imagnination and the creative spirit that resides within us, you give us voice to transcend both earthly joy and pain.

Praise be to you, for through the arts participate in some humble way in Your own character as Creator. And through such arts we discover ways to live in the incongruities of human existence. Through music we find hope; through art we find beauty; through drama we give voice to our joy and sorrow.

We recognize O Lord, that you are not unaquainted with story; you have pulled us into the cosmic drama of redemption. And because you have given us a glimpse of the final scene and you have foreshadowed the outcome through our baptism we play out our parts with hope.

Thank you for the creative spirit of imagination that provides us with another place to connect to you.

The preacher props his elbows on the writing desk Monday afternoon
Creative energy at low ebb.
Sunday's now past but another looms;
And the hunger of the church's belly cries to be fed.

The little bucket sits in the feed bag.
With a long nudge of her nozzle the dog makes clear her intent.
"Get the bucket; feed me."

People are dying
Really they are;
Hospice, hospital, and corner office alike.

And folks are lost--
Like the driver today asking directions for Peachtree
Stuck in the wide lanes of congestion
Getting no where fast.

Lord, what will the preacher say
When congregation waits with expectancy
What word of hope lies latent upon the pages of books upon the desk
That gives voice to your words.

Faithful is a difficult thing
To be faithful to.
Poured out each week until the bucket's sides are dry
And remaining still to be filled again when drops drip sparsely--
Like a leaky faucet.

Annoying, really; leaky faucets.
O Lord, to be filled with the free outpouring of your Spirit!

But if it means that I need to quietly wait, paying attention to the drip, drip, drip
And holding the hand of those who are dying
And giving direction to the lost
And sitting in a meeting
And talking to her on the phone
And saying prayers with him
And reading these books
Yes, even these books that speak about You;
Then.

I will be your bucket.

Lord,
The past few days have been grueling;
Full of activity, flowing like a spring stream
Bursting with unexpected turns and churning with possibility.

People's lives and hopes
Passion vibrant and real in questions raised
The realness of your presence in hopes and dreams

You are alive and at work.
I want to be used.

Forgive my foolish ways and my tired thoughts.
May I awake tomorrow by the grace of your favor to ride again in the currents of your vision.

Amen

Lord,
Resurrection Day passes and Monday brings troubled people back into view. People like:
The woman who needs her electric power turned back on
The man in the restaurant whose facing heart surgery
The woman in Emory hospital who suffered a stroke last night
The mother looking for a job to support her children
The man losing a job because he cared enough to tell the truth

What does easter faith say to these persons--persons that I have talked to, cried with, and been silent in their suffering since this day began?

Sometimes the empty tomb seems--really empty.

What does easter faith have to say? It says that suffering and joblessness and powerlessness and the beeps and whirling noises of medical machinery are not the last word. Mondays do speak words--words that hurt and words that wound. But the last word is not the Monday word.

The last word is the Sunday word of grace. Yes, that's it. The easter word is a word of triumph and hope and finds its center in your grace. Grace that is unfolding, emerging; grace that nurtures the smallest little good thing and turns into some better. The resurrection is evidence of your powerful word of grace.

Someone needs to speak the Sunday word to a woman in a darkened apartment. Someone needs to speak that word to a man wondering about his mortality. Someone needs to sit by a hospital bed. Lord, someone needs to help some people find work to do.

Lord, who? Who will speak the Sunday word on Monday?