Lent 5, Year B 2021: Litany for Embracing Change

In this week’s gospel text from John 12, Jesus shares the metaphor of the seed undergoing burial in the ground and death - death of its season of existence as a seed - so that it might become the “glorified” version of itself: the full grown wheat plant that bears fruit for nourishment. The “fruit” being more wheat seeds, and so the cycle continues. The wheat is continually undergoing transformation from one state of being to another: seed, sprout, seedling, mature plant, seed..

Jesus says that he must pass through this similar experience, which he then allows his physical body to undergo: the “seed” of his physical body, he says, must be buried so that it can be transformed into a more glorious state and make way for more cycles. He tells us that this is the nature of things on earth: change, transformation, cycles, rhythms. To resist this is to resist life, and he says as much in verse 25: “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”

We participate in eternity by our non-resistant participation in these divine rhythms. We become immortal by not resisting death. What a paradox, hey!

The Psalmist prays to be changed - to be cleansed, washed, purged, transformed, and to be made more fundamentally joyful (Psalm 51:7,8). They pray for their old patterns to die and be replaced: “Create in me a clean heart, and put a new and right spirit within me.”

Lent is our opportunity to create the intention of embracing the death that is naturally part of change and transformation. By embracing change, we embrace death, and by embracing death we embrace life.

God, we behold the cycles of nature,
Understanding that change is the constant -
The release of the old to make way for the new,
The acceptance of death to make way for new life….

Lent 2, Year B 2021: Litany for Lenten Cycles

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I’m a firm believer that Lent, practiced consciously, is a guardrail against spiritual bypassing. The regular observance of seasons of austerity, lament, and penance, which we Christians get in Lent and Advent, guide us to enter into aspects of the human experience we’d rather not endure.

Other spiritual traditions have similar seasons: Jews have Yom Kippur; Muslims have Ramadan; Hindus have Navaratri; and so forth. These rhythms keep us pain-avoidant human beings honest: they take us into the shadow so that we have an opportunity to alchemize - or if you prefer a Christianese word: redeem - what we find there: the uncomfortable feelings, the limiting beliefs, patterns of harm, the losses we didn’t have time to grieve, traumas we didn’t have resources to heal before. These seasons offer us the opportunity to make meaning of the human condition and to accept it as it is, to accept ourselves as we are. In Lent we are invited to stop judging our pain and instead feel it and allow it to teach us. It is part of a cycle: we don’t stay in Lent forever. Death comes, and then Resurrection. Weeping comes in the soul’s night, then joy in the morning. We sow in tears, we reap in joy. If we never accept the rhythm of sowing in tears, we have little appreciation, much less gratitude, for joy. We know light by its contrast to darkness.

In Western culture we make very little space for weakness, pain, mourning, lament, sadness. We are taught early on that excessive feeling that doesn’t fall in the category of anger or excitement is unwelcome, and that sadness is a pathology. But the rhythms of the Christian faith tradition offer a different paradigm: one that welcomes the mourner, blesses the weak, and gives space and voice to lament. It assigns value to loneliness and suffering even as it assures us that we are never alone in suffering.

Jesus heading out to the desert wilderness for a period of solitude and austerity sets the precedent for Lenten practice. Jesus accepts all parts of human experience, entering into the full spectrum of emotion. He rejects no parts of the whole.

In week 2 of Lent, Year B, we are invited along with the disciples to “deny” ourselves, take up the instrument of our suffering, and follow him into the totality of embodied adventure, and to do this willingly, without judgement or resistance, trusting that the way out is the way through.

God, our culture teaches us to avoid pain, And to suppress emotion; But in the wisdom tradition that Christ practiced, We find space for pain, emotion, and much more.

Lent 1, Year B, 2021: Litany for the Wilderness

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Oh! Here’s the Baptism account I was telling you about last week! Right here for us all to contemplate again. Jesus is baptized, then heads out to the desert to take care of some inner work. There aren’t but 2 sentences dedicated to Mark’s description of Jesus going to the desert. Matthew and Luke give Jesus in the desert more airtime, noting that he fasted and prayed in the desert, but Mark only stresses the point that he was tempted by Satan and cared for by angels. John (the non-synoptic one) doesn’t mention any of this at all.

(Aside: So, 2 out of 4 gospels give us THE WHOLE SEASON OF LENT? I find this funny; you’d think all four gospels would need to agree in order to justify creating a *whole liturgical season.*)

The Catholic Vatican Council II identifies two central elements of the season of Lent:

• Baptism: either recalling it or preparing to undergo it

• Penance

In other words the spirit of the season, as they imagine it, is that it is an extended ritual of purification and preparation. Which, as I mentioned last week, all wisdom traditions (that I know of) contain. 

We wash ourselves, and then we let the desert dry us off. That arid, sandy ground; empty, nowhere for longing to hide. So dry and desperate it cracks open. 

Jesus went out to the desert wilderness; but in my experience, the desert often comes to us. And the desert is what has my attention just now. I am thinking of that solitary expanse. The harshness of it, but also the beauty. I am thinking of how resonant Jesus’ expedition there is to me just now; Mark says the “Spirit drove him” there (NRSV). I am thinking of the circumstances in my own life that drive me to someplace bleak and essential, where the only thing for me to focus on is my own longing, my own thirst. And where I must overcome the temptation to resort to *any old thing* to relieve me of the discomfort of existing there.

When the waters of my baptism have evaporated off me, I recall them with yearning. Yet. When I’m dry as dust, and I am distilled down to my essence, there comes an opportunity for new clarity. The desert can teach me why I’m on this journey anyway.

And here is our invitation: to accept the desert. To not go the long way ‘round. To experience it and feel it - the hunger and the cold and the scorching sun and the desperate thirst - and allow it to show us who we are, and to prepare us for the real work we are here to do.

God, as Christ goes out into the wilderness
To experience solitude
To refrain from distraction,
To be tempted to escape discomfort;
So we find ourselves, at times, in a similar place:
Whether we chose to go there or not….

Epiphany 5: Litany for Healing and Renewal

In light of my own state of exhaustion, and the exhausting times we have endured together, I offer this prayer based on this week’s Lectionary selections. 

Have you not known? 
Have you not heard? 
Yahweh is the everlasting God, 
The Creator of the ends of the earth (1)
Yet, in our weariness, we often forget
The lovingkindness of Spirit to us when we falter. …

Epiphany, Baptism of the Lord, Year B: Litany for the Unorthodox


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It occurs to me, upon reading the account of John the Baptist baptizing the Christ in Mark 1, and the discussion between Paul and some disciples that happens in Acts 19, that what John was doing was pretty radical. I’m always tempted to overlook him as a character in the story, but the story seems to find its way back to quirky, weird old John the Baptist again and again. In the Advent scriptures he’s referred to as the “voice of one calling in the wilderness.” And in today’s scriptures he’s subverting the whole religious system of the day by proclaiming forgiveness of sins by way of repentance, changing course, and baptism, i.e. ceremonial/ritual washing.

The faith tradition he’s part of has taught that forgiveness comes through animal sacrifice via official priestly and religious channels. But John is going around all official channels. John is sidestepping ALL accepted protocols regarding how to live: he lives outside the community, dresses and eats oddly, and preaches an alternative form of spiritual practice. And Jesus comes along and adds veracity to John’s unorthodox work! He allows himself to be baptized by John, aligning himself with unofficial, unverified spiritual practice and procedure. Then the Spirit validates the work too, coming in the form of a dove to add weight to Jesus and John’s claims!

John seems to stand in his own authority, trusting his instincts, making it up as he goes along, doing what resonates for him because he has no roadmap; he is in uncharted religious territory, making way for a Christ few people seemed to really expect to arrive, and helping usher in a new paradigm of faith and action.

I have a hunch that we are in uncharted spiritual and religious territory too.

God, we find ourselves in need of extra creativity in these times -
When the old ways don’t seem to be working anymore,
When the problems we face are vast and unsettling,
When our energy and ingenuity have been depleted.

Advent Year B, Week 2: Preparation & Promise

(Note: see also my Year B Advent offerings from 2017.)

This litany follows along with the Advent readings for Year B, Week 2. Themes of preparation: “prepare the way of the Lord; themes of a promise forthcoming : “we wait for new heavens and new earth, where righteousness is at home.” (2 Peter 3:13); and themes of comfort: “comfort my people (Isaiah 40:1). I have woven these themes into this week’s liturgy offering, in hopes of helping us live wholly in the difficult now and the longed-for not-yet.

In this year's Advent series, I'm using this phrase "There is a moment" as an opening line rather than the usual address of God. This is an intentional choice to help place us in the Now/Not Yet into which Advent invites us, and as a way to acknowledge the rumble of longing beneath our current reality.

I will post the remainder of this year's Advent series after December 1. 

There is a moment
Just before the promise of God -
The promise of goodness -
Comes to pass;
In which we prepare inside ourselves
Space for the Divine to be born.

Proper 29, Year A (Reign of Christ): Litany for Pandemic Response

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This week’s litany is specifically focused on the pandemic, as is the attention of most of the U.S. with 247,000 dead, and over 1000 per day losing their lives to uncontrolled COVID-19. When I hear the words of Christ here in Matthew 25 saying, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me..,” all I can hear is the pleas of doctors and nurses to please wear a mask, don’t go to gatherings or bars, keep your distance. These are small acts of love that, lamentably, so many people who say they follow Christ are neglecting.

This parable is a powerful critique on this moment. On how we are responding collectively to this crisis and those most in danger of harm from it. On how willing or unwilling we are to do concrete but simple acts of love.

Honestly, I can’t get it out of my head. I have trouble understanding the world right now. It’s hard to write liturgy for these times, y’all.

God, help us to see that even the tiniest actions we do or don’t do
Can be a testament to love:
Wearing a mask,
Staying home instead,
Visiting outdoors at a few paces distance,
Taking measured precautions…

Proper 28 (Year A, 2020): Litany for God's Mercy

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I have deep grief this week for the American Church and what I personally perceive as its rampant complicity with evil. I grieve even as I am elated to have the first woman elected to high federal office, for this momentous thing to happen in my lifetime, for my daughters and I to witness.

This litany follows along with the Lectionary readings for this week, but is a cry of my own heart. Much of the language is taken directly from the scriptures. Perhaps you can echo it.

Oh God, look upon us now
And have mercy.
For our society’s dysfunctions are set before you,
Our secret sins revealed in the light of your countenance (1).

Proper 26 (Year A, 2020): Litany for Mirroring

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In this week’s Lectionary selections, the prophet Micah calls out those who lead God’s “people astray, who cry "Peace" when they have something to eat, but declare war against those who put nothing into their mouths” (Micah 3;5).

And Christ, in an echo of Micah’s fiery whistleblowing, calls out the scribes and Pharisees of his day: “They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them.” (Matthew 23:4)

As we finish out this election cycle over the next week, it makes sense to become reflective about our society. How do we treat those who “put nothing in their mouths,” the hungry, poor, houseless? What burdens do we lay on the shoulders of the disabled, the least politically powerful, the least upwardly mobile, the sick? And how might we become willing to move them? These are, in part, what we are voting about. But they are also an invitation to reflect on our own lives and practice. And we know from these sacred scriptures, that God is silence and shadow toward the unjust (Micah 3: 6,7); that God humbles the exalted and exalts the humble (Matthew 23:12).

Are we listening to and voting in solidarity with the most marginalized people in society? Are we listening to Black women, Women of Color, LGBTQ voices, the perspectives of the Disabled, the unjustly incarcerated, the under-resourced? This is what we have the opportunity to reflect on now, that we are invited into both by this Lectionary and by this cultural and historic moment.

God, you invite us to hold the scriptures up
LIke a mirror ,
To perceive ourselves in their plane,
To reflect upon our works, policies, and actions….

Proper 22 (Year A): Litany for Vineyards

Here is a link to a previous litany I wrote for Proper 22, Year A: Litany for Laws 

This week’s Lectionary readings circle around a central agricultural metaphor - of vineyards: what goes on in them, what grows in them, what happens when people misuse them. Three of the texts for this week, Isaiah 5, Psalm 80, and Matthew 21, all utilize this theme. This litany is an exploration of the vineyard, and the lessons we receive from these texts. 

God, we know that you created the world,
And it was good. It is good.
Humankind has, in many ways, misused and mistreated it,
And each other. 

Lament for Breonna

This lament is in response to the murder of Breonna Taylor by police officers in Louisville, KY on March 13, 2020. As of Wednesday, September 23, the officers who killed her have received no indictments for her wrongful death, nor any repercussions at all. Another in a long line of Black bodies killed by the state.

God, this is not the world we want to live in:
Where murderers go free,
Where the state kills innocents,
Where the political system justifies lynching,
Where the system protects the powerful and leaves the innocent to their fate. 
Where justice is not done. 

This injustice is not new. No. 
It is an old, old pattern: 
Of racism, 
Of white supremacy, 
Of power-hoarding, 
Of greed,
Of theft, 
Of ego. 

We cry out for the abolishment of unjust systems. 
We cry out for an end to police abuse of power. 
We cry out for an end to the state-sanctioned murder of innocents. 
We cry out for an end to the abuse and murder of Black lives.
We cry out for an end to political stalemate that does not legislate protections. 
We cry out for Breonna’s family and loved ones. 

We lament Breonna’s lost future here on earth. 
We lament her life cut short. 
We lament the trauma of her death. 
We lament the corrupt officers who got off without consequence. 
We lament the pain and grief of all who mourn her. 
We lament the long line of martyrs Breonna joins. 

Give us strength, oh God, to continue the work. 
Strength to be struck down but not destroyed, 
To be persecuted but not forsaken,
To be mystified but not despairing (1). 

Give ear to our voices, God, 
Hear the pleas of the righteous. 
Cast down the mighty from their thrones.
Lift up the lowly (2). 

1. 2 Corinthians 4:8,9

2. Luke 1:52

Lament for Climate Change

God, we find ourselves in a grievous position:
On a warming planet, 
Wildfires burning,
Icecaps melting,
Soil degrading,
Waters poisoning.  

Consumerist capitalism has so dazed and bound our society
That we cannot perceive a way forward;
We cannot get ourselves out of the trouble we are in.
We have waited long and late.
We are reaping the rewards of our inaction,
Our efforts frustrated by corporate greed.

We are sorrowful
For the ways we have harmed our earth-home
With our societal excesses and apathies,
Our hunger for more, more, more,
Our neglect of the needs of the poorest and least powerful,
Our disregard for ecosystems.

We lament the corporate greed that drives environmental destruction. 
We lament the industrial farming practices that harm the soil and waterways. 
We lament the industrial extraction of natural resources that destroys ecosystems. 
We lament the pollution with chemicals that harm humans, animal, waterways, and soil organisms.

Help us now to do what we must
To mitigate further harm.
Help us to sacrifice convenience for the greater good - 
The good of future generations,
The good of all humanity - not just a privileged few, 
The good of all of Earth’s inhabitants. 

We know this work won’t be easy:
It will require a revolution of consciousness. 
We know it won’t be quick;
It will take decades of effort. 
We know it won’t be popular;
It will mean people have to make sacrifices.

But, oh God, give us fortitude to do it anyway, 
To come back into alignment with Nature as you created it, 
And with your Spirit, who teaches us
And inspires us to the good work of wholeness and justice. 

Amen

Lament for the 200,000

On Tuesday September 22, 2020 the United States passed the milestone of 200,000 deaths due to Covid-19. This is a lament for those we’ve lost.

God, we hold up to you these lives:
These 200,000 lost to us.
We know they are not lost - 
You hold them in your mercy and love. 

We commend to you their care. 
Heal them there,
Close to your inimitable light
And your unfailing Love. 

We grieve alongside their families and loved ones. 
They have departed, but will not be forgotten. 
For we know that death is not an end to their story, 
Only of this human chapter. 

We lament the failed leadership that did not keep them safe. 
We lament the state of a government willing to let people die needlessly. 
We lament the political system that makes it expedient to sacrifice human lives. 
We lament the lack of regard for vulnerable people. 
We lament the lack of regard for human life. 
We lament the inaction and apathy of people in political power. 

We know, despite everything, that death is always a risk,
That safety from death is an illusion;
And also, we know that we are safe in your care every moment. 
You catch us as we fall. 

Bring us now into the necessary awareness
To make change,
To create a more just world,
To care for the least powerful,
To prevent further suffering and loss of life,
To endure this season of grief,
To heal the trauma we have collectively sustained,
To comfort those overwhelmed by suffering.  

Hear the voice of our pain, oh God.
Amen

Proper 19 (Year A): Litany for Reassurance

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The times are chaotic, and I hope this litany, referencing Psalm 103, Romans 14, and Matthew 18, can make way for the Divine to offer some reassurance to your community this week. 

God, we come to this day in need of reassurance.
We know we have been at fault.
We know we have been complicit in various ways.
We become discouraged and hopeless.
We become cynical and apathetic.
We need assurance of your unfailing love…



Proper 17 (Year A): Litany for Suffering

(Note: this litany goes along with the First Testament reading for this week. )

In Matthew 16, this week’s Lectionary Gospel reading, Jesus is clear with his followers about what’s ahead: great suffering. Peter can’t stand the thought. He thinks everything must be wrong if suffering is involved. Jesus rebukes him strongly for this. 

Because he knows and points out that suffering is part of this journey here. Just because there’s suffering doesn’t mean he’s on the wrong path. He won’t be exempt from the human condition, from an experience of suffering, loss, death, betrayal, pain. He doesn’t seek it out, but he knows it will find him. 

I never want to glorify suffering, nor insist upon it. I never want to cause or sanctify it. Rather I want to acknowledge it when it comes, and work to remedy it. I want a world in which suffering is no more. 

God, we are suffering. Our siblings are suffering.
Suffering from the effects of systemic injustice,
Brutality and violence,
Racism and inequity,
Political polarization and environmental abuse,
Greed and oppression.

Day of Pentecost (Year A): Litany for Holy Spirit Fire

I'll mostly let Frederick Buechner do the commenting this week. Except to say, the Lectionary is never the wrong thing for the moment.  And to say: Rest in peace George Floyd, who was murdered in a racist act of police brutality earlier this week.

“Every morning you should wake up in your bed and ask yourself: "Can I believe it all again today?" No, better still, don't ask it till after you've read The New York Times, till after you've studied that daily record of the world's brokenness and corruption, which should always stand side by side with your Bible. Then ask yourself if you can believe in the Gospel of Jesus Christ again for that particular day. If your answer's always Yes, then you probably don't know what believing means. At least five times out of ten the answer should be No because the No is as important as the Yes, maybe more so. The No is what proves you're human in case you should ever doubt it. And then if some morning the answer happens to be really Yes, it should be a Yes that's choked with confession and tears and. . . great laughter.”

― Frederick Buechner

God, our world is rife with violence and evil
With cruelty, injustice, and materialism.
We need Holy Spirit’s fire
To burn away our unjust systems…

Easter 7 (Year A, Ascension Sunday): Litany for the In-Between

This litany follows the Lectionary readings for the last Sunday before Pentecost, Year A; in particular the account of Christ’s ascension in Acts 1 and his promise of the Spirit as Comforter and Guide. As we live inside this liminal space of Now and Not Yet, of Christ-has-come-and-is-coming from within us, we pray...

Christ, we imagine those first moments after your ascension into heaven
Leaving the disciples behind.
We can imagine and feel their confusion, their sense of loss -
Their loneliness (1).

Easter 6 (Year A): Litany for The Way Through

Only 2 more Sundays in the season of Easter. Then Pentecost. Then ordinary time. In our small community here on the outskirts of the Austin Metro area, we have a family experiencing a tragic loss. This in the midst of a global pandemic and the accompanying upheaval and uncertainty. And the pandemic is overlaid atop ongoing systemic racial injustice, as we mourn the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and the countless other Black people who have been lynched in this country.

The Easter season is about resurrection while we are walking through a time of unveiling, and among families experiencing death. As it so often does, the Lectionary prompts me to reflect on the Now in light of its account and what wisdom I can glean from it. How to reconcile?

“In him we live and move and have our being,” the author of Acts quotes Paul as saying. “God has listened…[and] given heed to the words of my prayer,” says the Psalmist. “I will not leave you orphaned,” says the Christ in John 14. 

Here’s a prayer for us as we navigate this dissonance: the ever-present love of God alongside the pains, traumas, and losses we inevitably experience in this life. 

God, we are tested.
We are tried as silver is tried.
We are never guaranteed physical safety.
We know that with love comes risk of loss.

Easter 5 (Year A 2020): Litany for the Divine Within

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Here in John 14, this week's Lectionary Gospel, we get a scene in which Jesus is winding down his pre-death-and-resurrection ministry, and it seems like he’s really sowing into his disciples. He’s sharing lesson after lesson, trying to help them understand what’s coming, where he’s going, the implications of it. He says a chapter or two earlier that his “soul is troubled” (John 12:27) and I can feel his edge here. I imagine him earnest but resigned. And he opens this soliloquy by saying “do not let your hearts be troubled;” his tone exhorting, encouraging. He affirms his Divinity as well as theirs, telling them that what he has, they share in. His resources are shared with them. His connection to God. His innate knowing of “the way” can be theirs too. 

God, as Christ is teaching us, we have your essence within us.
The Divine is within Christ (1)
Christ is within us (2),
And so The Divine is within us. 

Easter 4 (Year A 2020): Litany for the Gate

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I’m prepping a sermon on this passage from John 10 this week, and lots of themes are presenting themselves to me, particularly as I read the other Lectionary passages. Christ as gate. Christ as Shepherd. Christ as Suffering Servant. Christ as “Guardian of your souls” (1 Peter 2:25). 

I’m very taken with Christ’s I AM statement: I am the gate. Ive heard this text preached many times as though Christ is the one who guards the flock and keeps them safe inside the confines of their pen, their spiritual home, their expectations and norms. Safe from heretics and marauders of the faith. But I’m seeing it now as a pathway that leads to journey, adventure, growth, learning, trial and error, uncertainty, and a broader experience of the world. 

Christ, as you taught us in the holy scriptures
You are the gate
That leads us to green pastures.
You are the gate
That opens up to still waters…