Great God,
who constructs the cosmos, dwell in me.
who sets the stars, dwell in me.
who paints the planets, dwell in me.
who separates the seasons, dwell in me.
who dictates the days, dwell in me.
who times the tides, dwell in me.
who made mankind, dwell in me.
dwell in all my being,
dwell in all my walking,
dwell in all my crying,
dwell in all my loving,
dwell in all my thinking,
dwell in all my living.
Poem
Waiting, Waited,
Flame Breather, Life Teaser,
Sweet Essence, Hard Presence,
Pulsing Blood, Sweeping Flood
Storm Force, Water Source,
Deepest Kiss, Draining Bliss,
Motivator, Love Creator,
Hearts Gripped, Conventions Ripped,
Fire Poured, Winds Roar,
Whisper, Whisper,
Blown Upon, Blown Away,
Burning Up, Burning Out,
Baraka, Ruach, Shanti, Shalom,
Life Spirit, Holy Spirit, Spirit.
Prayer
Kindle in us a love for the wild beauty of the creation of God.
Fan the flame of passion for community.
Heat us to white hot with yearning for culture to be transformed
And people to know the God who breathed life into them and the world they walk upon.
Spark in us a fire which rages with all consuming heat against injustice, oppression and evil.
Bright flame, for whom Aidan of Lindisfarne was named,
Passed on from generation to generation,
From winter to winter,
From day to day,
Set alight in us the love of the Christ who walks in the world,
Blow on us with the wind which filled the sails of the Perigrinati and spread the Gospel throughout the world.
Photo by Thomas Bormans on Unsplash
A liturgy for lament from ‘Opening the doors’
Walter Brueggemann wrote, “Jesus knew what we numb ones must always learn again: that weeping must be real because endings are real; and that weeping permits newness. His weeping permits the kingdom to come… Only those who embrace the reality of death will receive the new life. Implicit in his statement is that those who do not mourn will not be comforted and those who do not face the endings will not receive the beginnings.” Walter Brueggemann, The Prophetic imagination (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), 57.
Lament is an important part of worship, the Bible is full of lament, from the cries of the Psalmist to the words of Jesus praying in the garden before his arrest and crucifixion. We need to recognise that sorrow and death are part of life and speak out our pain in faith. If we do not mark our losses and grieve it is hard to take the next, forward steps in faith and life.
MAY OUR TEARS SPEAK (LITURGY) God of all, we stand at the door and weep. The world around changed as we watched from our homes. There is much we have lost, loved ones and people we may have come to know, brothers and sisters, friends and family. We have lost some of our freedoms, our way of living and many of our hopes. We have lost security, purpose and role, many fear for their livelihood and that of their families. We have grieved in silence and solitude, we have watched our departed become statistics, our mourning displaced by daily charts and unfeeling graphs. May our tears speak where our words cannot.
God of community, we stand at the door and weep. We have lost time to learn and explore, friendships faded through absence, celebrations long dreamed of missed and forgotten. Hard worked for ambitions and personal goals handed to strangers to determine. We have watched as pixelated grandchildren took their first step and connections dropped at crucial moments. We have distanced ourselves from friends and neighbours, waved from behind fences and shouted through windows. We have lost the casual connection, the supermarket aisle catch-up, the unexpected conversation. We have watched as friends and neighbours turned on each other, as frustration and indignation tore families apart. May our tears speak where our words cannot.
God of the church, we stand at the door and weep. We have missed each other, we have tried to hold it together, we have zoomed and skyped but as good as they are, we have missed the way a smile infects a room and the sparkle of the spirit in each other’s eyes. We have longed for the handshake and the hug, the hand on the shoulder and the clap on the back. We have been so desperate to sing songs of peace and joy, to break bread and share words that we have clung to what we can stream. We have become fixated on return when you call us forward. May our tears speak where our words cannot.
God of peace, we stand at the door and weep. We offer ourselves as peacemakers, as healers and lovers. We do not have the answer, but we share the tears of those around us. We have still more to lose, because things will never be the same, we must find a new way to be, your way. A way that may mean letting go of all that we longed for as you gift us a new calling to a new world. But in this moment, we stand at the door and weep for what we have lost and will lose, We weep for those whose passing we have not been able to mark, for those whose grief we have not been able to ease, for those whose lives have been ripped apart and whose future feels shattered. God all we ask is you hear our cries in the silence, our tears in the stillness, our prayers in the gap between what was and what is to come. May our tears speak where our words cannot.
God of creation, we stand at the door and weep for what has ended and for what there is to come. We weep for endings and beginnings, we weep for a church that is changed, a world that is hurting and for the kingdom that is to come. May our tears speak where our words cannot.
16 Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted. 17 Relieve the troubles of my heart, and bring me out of my distress. 18 Consider my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins. 19 Consider how many are my foes, and with what violent hatred they hate me. 20 O guard my life, and deliver me; do not let me be put to shame, for I take refuge in you. Psalm 25:16-20
Photo by Aliyah Jamous on Unsplash
In the turmoil of life, in the chaos of the storm, when you lose your sense of direction and place… in the dreams you have that seem too distant and out of reach… in your self doubt and feelings of failure and being an imposter… in your addictions and the needs that dominate your thinking… in your deepest pain and brokenness, illness and heart ache… in the emptiness of being alone and the incessant noise of the crowd… May you find still and rich peace, peace that is beyond measure and understanding, peace that cuts through the collected crap and soothes your soul.
Blessed are the survivors, those who drag themselves out of bed each morning and just because they have to. For they show true heart and guts and they will know admiration.
Blessed are the bruised, those who carry the scars and wounds inflicted by the jealous and the angry and yet keep going. For they will leave their attackers behind them and find clear road ahead.
Blessed are the strugglers, those who fight each day to shake of their doubts and fears just to give themselves a chance to breathe. For they will draw deep on their true spirit and will feel the touch of the divine.
Blessed are those who set their face to the future in desperate hope and determination, for they will know themselves and they are seen and known and loved.
You search me and know me,
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
There are many parts of my story that I race past,
holding my breath lest they raise their heads
and show me up for who I fear I am.
Small things that grow from my hidden corners,
swelling, filling, misshaping me.
Things I am told, looks that I catch in the eyes of another.
The leaping of my heart as heat rises and dizziness flows.
They grow and overwhelm, forcing me back into their dark places.
Deep into my shame I have sunk.
You search me and know me,
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
In the night my spirit wakes and taunts me,
The voices that tell me I can do no good, that I have no value,
That remind me of my failings, of my weakness,
of my splinters and shards.
The faces that stare with eyes which condemn and dismiss me,
That look with disdain and judgement, that puncture my faith.
The sneers and comparisons, the taunts and the jokes.
Deep into my shame I have shrunk.
You search me and know me,
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
In the morning I face myself in the mirror and see what I have done.
My past actions overwhelm me and change what I see,
They tell me I am wicked, they tell me I am ugly,
They drown my goodness, they suffocate my beauty.
They fight to own and define me, and too often they win.
They become who I am and what I may be.
Deep into my shame I have grown.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
Your eyes search me,
You know my heart.
See through my shame,
See deep into my hidden places,
See through my deepest fear and pain,
Show me what you see,
Show me the me you created,
Show me the goodness you know is there,
Show me the strength I cannot feel,
Show me the beauty I cannot see,
Show me the light in my darkness,
Show me the music in my soul.
Help me to release the things I have done which I have let define me,
Help me to release the things that others have done to me that crush my spirit,
Help me to know the difference I make for others,
Help me to trust the difference you make in me,
Help me to be the me you see,
Help me to be the me you love,
Help me to recognise myself in you.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
Mother and Father God,
Creator, Redeemer, Comforter,
Search me, know me, love me,
Help me to search myself,
Help me to know myself,
Help me to love myself.
Forgive me for the things I have done that shame me,
Forgive me for the things I regret not doing,
Forgive me for not trusting in your grace and love.
Help me to accept total forgiveness,
Help me to live from this day without guilt or shame,
Help me to trust in your grace and love,
Lead me forward in peace and new life.
Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.
Mark Berry 29/03/2019
Sections from Psalm 139 New International Version (NIV)
Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.
In the sorrow bring new joy,
In the ending bring new hope.
Today I burn the things which pull me back into the old me.
The shame and guilt I feel for failures past,
Things I know I should have done better,
Things I know I should never have done.
Things I did in anger or selfishness,
Without due thought for others or rightful care.
Things I did in fear or panicked haste,
Without due thought to unforeseen consequences.
Things I did in response to my own nagging doubts and demons,
Without due thought for where they may take or leave me.
I burn the obsessions and preoccupations that refuse to let me grow into the me that you see,
The pattern behaviours and co-dependencies that keep me anchored,
The wounds and tears that I cannot allow to heal,
The scabs I delight in picking off before their time.
The habits and addictions that I hold to from fear and insecurity.
I burn the desires I know are harmful,
The ambitions that persuade me that it’s ok to stand on others,
That allow me to minimise the gifts of others for my gain.
That emerge from greed, pride and competitiveness.
I burn these things and I mark myself with ash,
As a welcome to true vulnerability and humility.
In the ashes there is a new life,
life dependent on love, on simple truth and righteousness.
I commit to this life,
Free from guilt and shame,
Free from anger and fear,
Free from greed and pride.
The sound of sheer silence,
Fights to be heard amongst the clatter and clamour,
Still the battering fears,
The questions that scream,
The anguish that points and pokes,
And tries to suffocate my space,
Doubts that roar in the tumultuous wind,
Accusations that pierce my awareness fired by the storm,
Insecurities crashing in my head in the fall of a great river,
In the noise I hear no voice but my own,
My weak voice, my raw voice, my tired voice.
My voice bringing me down, destroying my confidence, prodding my wounds.
Stand, still.
Stand, still.
Stand, still.
Do not hear the storm, the wind, the rain.
Hear instead the sound of sheer silence.
Hear the voice in peace,
Hear the voice of peace,
Hear the voice… peace.
1 Kings 19:11-13
Through the night Jacob had to fight,
Eye to eye, arm to arm,
held, twisting, pulling, knees. elbows,
Muscles and joints tensed in the search for purchase,
Pressure building in desperation and frustration,
Why must we wrestle, how is that love?
But the fight will not end,
Where is mercy, where is peace?
No space, face to face,
Only hard eyes and harder fists,
Down on the solid earth,
Bruising,
Tearing,
Ripping,
Bleeding,
In the dust and the dirt, stinging raw flesh,
Grinding bones and bedrock,
Forcing breath, and sweat and pain.
Day breaking, body breaking,
By the crooked river,
Bones are bent out of shape,
Forever crooked.
Scars born in love and hope,
Wounds exchanged for a name,
a blessing ripped from deepest injury.
With the rising sun a gift of pain that remains.
A reminder of the most intimate battle.
Not won or lost, just fought.
PICTURA POESIS 