Unfolding Light

          While I kept silent, my body wasted away….
          Then I acknowledged my sin to you,
           and you forgave the guilt of my sin.
                                        —from Psalm 32.3-5

My sin is not that I’m evil.
It’s that my wounds are unhealed.
Untouched, they fester in me,
convince me of your disdain,
and lead me to do hurtful things.

My confession is not self-punishment,
but allowing what is to be what is,
releasing the burden of denial.
I bring my brokenness honestly
into your loving presence,
so it may be healed.

My wounds have misled me,
my sins have judged me,
but you set me free.

In your grace I receive your blessing:
my soul runs deeper than my wounds;
my worth is more precious than my failings;
my heart, though broken, is made whole.
My confession is not complete
until it becomes trust and gratitude.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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             “Command these stones
                     to become loaves of bread.
             Throw yourself down,
                     for angels will bear you up.
             All these I will give you,
                   if you will fall down and worship me.”
                                              —from Matthew 4.3-9


Bread. Safety. Esteem.
I want them.
Power to make things as I wish,
protection from suffering,
fitting in—
God, I lose you for their sake.

Let me hunger and thirst for justice,
and be satisfied.
Let me trust your grace,
and risk for the sake of love.
Let me forego the whole kingdom
selfishness promises,
and serve you alone.

Do not diminish my desires, Beloved.
Redirect them.
May I hunger for you,
fall into your arms,
and belong to you alone.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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We wear the ashes of the palms we waved
long ago, the crosses we wore,
the prayer candles we lit, the faith we thought we had,
the ashes of so many ways we’ve failed each other.
We wear them, front and center,
how we ourselves have been burned,
the ashes of our burned bridges, love ungiven,
cruel words that singed someone’s heart,
the ashes of who we’d hoped to be,
even of who we still hope to become,
the dust than which we we are no greater—
except for this little breath of breath—
smeared on our foreheads.
We wear the ashes from the garbage
we took out back and burned,
left over from all we surround ourselves with
to stay safe and comfy.
The smudge that’s all that’s left
of the immigrant deported, the Native girl missing,
the ashes of 9/11, ashes of Hiroshima, ashes of Gaza.
They are the ashes of Palisades, of Notre Dame,
our father’s ashes still sitting on the shelf because
we don’t know quite what to do with them,
the ashes of our own cremation,
scattered already before our death.
These are the ashes of our shame
and our sorrow, and our dying,
trying to do right by you, God, and failing,
though still your light burns within us.

We wear them as an act of faith, remembering
this is the dust from which you create us,
knowing you receive our dust, bless it,
and breathe into it your life.
On our foreheads, day by day making our way
toward our death and beyond,
we wear this dust that shines with light,
this bewildering sign of hope.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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            Create in me a clean heart, O God,
                    and put a new and right spirit within me.
                                              —Psalm 51.10

Stop me if you’ve heard this one, God.
           I think I’ve prayed this before.

I ask for a new heart over and over…
           and I still need a new one, don’t I?

It’s not like I can offer a trade-in
           and drive the new one off the lot.

It’s not a new model
           that ought to last me a while.

You create my heart, moment by moment.
           It is not my possession, but your gift.

Your Spirit rebirths itself in me
           every moment, every breath.

I allow you to create me,
           new, over and over.

I am just now opening my eyes,
           seeing for the first time, always.

My whole life, always renewing,
           always given.


Breath prayer:
                      Every breath . . . made new

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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             Return to the Wholeness, the One, your God,
                  who is gracious and merciful,
             slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love,
                   and relenting from punishment.
                                              —Joel 2.13

There is no journey to God.
You are there.
There is no goal of repentance
you must reach for.
It is within you.
For Lent, give up your striving.
Return to the truth of who you are.
Give up the spiritual trek.
Find your home here,
in trust in the grace of God.
Let go of your affair with a god
who judges you, who needs to be pleased.
Stay here with the One who already loves you,
who is already, and eternally, delighted with you.
Don’t go off on a journey, go in.
Return to the peace at the center.
There is much to let go of,
but nowhere to go.
Broken as you are, you are in God.
That is enough.
Be there.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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Do you know how you shine with my radiance?
Can you hear my name for you?
“My beloved, my delight.”

I said it to you at your baptism;
I whisper it to you every day.
You were born of light.

Sometimes it’s only a mountaintop experience
that reveals it clearly,
but once you’ve seen, you know.

No one can build a monument to it,
no one can capture it,
but it’s there, as secret as the sun.

Do you realize the ancients
walk with you, murmur to you,
cheer you on?

It’s true, from the mountain
you see the cross,
but also the horizon beyond.

Will you go there?
Will you walk in love?
My dearest, I want you with me.

Will you be my Valentine?
Will you take my love
to an uncertain world?

Will you carry my love
like a little red candy heart,
to a world needing to know?

I’m with you.
I love you.
Will you be mine?

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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They dressed up like frogs.
They danced. In tear gas they danced.
They sang. In below zero weather they sang.
They brought food to those in hiding.
They walked. For 2300 miles they walked.
They made phone calls. Every day they called.
They showed up.
With loving kindness, they were present.

This is how we change the world.
One heart at a time,
by the simplest of things.
A conversation.
An act of generosity.
(The new world
is waiting within us.)
Mustard seeds of peace.
Word made flesh.
Ordinary actions.
They create ripples,
which become waves.

This is how God parted the Red Sea:
not with awesome powers,
but little ripples
that just kept going.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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             There appeared Moses and Elijah, talking with him.
             Peter said to Jesus, “Boss, I will set up three tents.”
             While he was still speaking, a voice said,
             “This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him!”
                         —Matthew 17.3-5


They were doing all the talking.

Jesus was listening.

Listen to him listening.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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For weeks these woods took off their leaves
is if it were too hot,
and now the land’s near naked,
like people lying on the beach,
with a bathing suit of snow,
revealing every dip and curve,
a string bikini tracing every branch and stone,
highlighting every breast and thigh
of hillside, every hip and rib exposed.
They rest under a pall of light,
their shoulders, legs, and bellies honestly laid bare.
Among the folded beach umbrellas of trees
the sun leans down and touches them,
these forms that lie as if asleep, that drift
out of time. The sunbathers think of nothing else,
not work or children or taxes,
or thawing spring, or that eventual day
when, finally, summoned by the sun,
they will, like all of us,
run down to the sea.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net
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Jesus goes up a mountain
with his bros. Suddenly
Malcom and Martin join him,
talking about liberation,
where it goes for the freed,
how it ends for liberators.
The end isn’t till after
the end… but he’s already there—
even as clouds gather—
shining with light,
light of the world,
eternal dawn,
the sun of God.
Peter says, “Let me try
to get a handle on this.”
God says, “You don’t get
to do the talking. Listen.”
They look— it’s just Jesus,
plain old. Still, there’s
no stopping somebody
who’s been to the mountain top.

But Jesus says, “Don’t even
think you get this
till after you’ve suffered.”

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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