Endless

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Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure.
This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and
fillest it ever with fresh life.

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This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and
dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its
limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

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Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small
hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and
still there is room to fill.

Images by Janice Williams Whiting. Top (and on front-page mastheads): “The Expulsion,” Middle and front-page mastheads: "Trepassey Angel," Bottom: “Madonna and Child.”

Words above by Rabindranath Tagore from Gitanjali: “Song Offerings.”

The Quiet Time Comes

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Behold, the quiet time comes.

Like twilight, its deep shadows spread, stilling frantic faith with a cool hand of calm. Be still now. Be quiet. Call within for ancient thoughts to arise, give them room to simply be. Wisdom is a well where sacred waters reflect the face that watches, for only still waters reflect the moon, untroubled by winds of ceaseless change.

Be still. Be ready. The quiet time comes.

Seen above: The Church at Auvers-sur-Oise by Vincent Van Gogh

Words above by The Right Reverend Steven Charleston, Interim Dean, St. Paul's Cathedral, Oklahoma City, OK; Diocese of Oklahoma

We Are Beloved of God

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Nurturing love, kindness, and compassion are The Big Deal, but for most of us, the intention to try to create love and live a happy life while we're here is often put aside due to "the nature of things," which (as Edmund Burke once wrote) is a sturdy adversary. The nature of things causes us to forget. In his book Present Moment, Wonderful Moment, Thich Nhat Hanh writes:

"We often become so busy that we forget what we are doing or even who we are. I know someone who says he even forgets to breathe! We forget to look at the people we love and to appreciate them, until it is too late. Even when we have some leisure time, we don't know how to get in touch with what is going on inside and outside of ourselves."

We also forget that we are beloved of God. Lately I've been thinking again about how I might BE love, and the thought popped into my mind that with love, you can only become it by doing it. In order to be one with love, we must love. I was reminded of a mantra: Aham Prema (ah-HAHM PREH-mah) that means simply "I am divine love." The power of Aham Prema lies in its ability to take away our doubts and defenses and let us rest in nurturing love, light, kindness and compassion. Aham Prema is a mantra that we can hold in our hearts all the way through life's lessons. It softens our armor and helps us grow.

Let Aham Prema accompany you for these days of Lent. Try whispering it to yourself 108 times once or twice a day, and see what you notice about your life and the people in it. It won't cost a dime and it takes less than five minutes. As you recite Aham Prema, try to accept that you are divine love (no small task, but true nonetheless); look at it in your cupped hands, hold the divine in your hands, hold it in your heart, breathe the divine love that's already in your heart. There is no place for anything but Aham Prema. Say to yourself "I am divine love." Try to grasp that. Know that you already embody this love for others. Know that you are divine love just the way you are.

aham prema, aham prema, aham prema, aham prema, aham prema…

Seen above and on front-page mastheads: “Disput” by Margret Hofheinz-Döring (Attribution: Margret Hofheinz-Döring/Galerie Brigitte Mauch Göppingen)

Words above by Ana Hernandez from "Forget Lent: Practice Being Love." Forget Lent II: Practice Showing Love can be read HERE.

Like The Dust

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Blessing of Mud

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the dirt.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the earth
beneath our feet.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the dust

like the dust
that God scooped up
at the beginning
and formed
with God’s
two hands
and breathed into
with God’s own
breath.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the spit.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the mud.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the mire,
the grime,
the muck.

Lest we think
that God
cannot reach
deep into the things
of earth,
cannot bring forth
the blessing
that shimmers
within the sludge,
cannot anoint us
with a tender
and grimy grace.

Lest we think
that God
will not use the ground
to create us
once again,
to cleanse us
of our unseeing,
to open our eyes upon
this ordinary
and stunning world.

Seen above and on front-page mastheads: Vase of Sunflowers by Henri Matisse

Words above by Jan Richardson at The Painted Prayerbook

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