Tuesday, January 16, 2024
You don’t have to travel across the world to be baptized in the Jordan River; only through the space time continuum. By the power of the Spirit of God The still clear water of the modern font Becomes the flow of that ancient river; Cleansing you as it was itself once cleansed by him who came after and yet before. “This is my beloved,” the voice beckons, Echoing from those first century shores,
Wednesday, January 3, 2024
The sun remains set but we are both awake. You more anxious than me To go outside. It isn’t until I feel the chill of the air That I realize You aren’t the only one Who has been holding it all night. “What’s the difference,” I ask “Between this and a camping trip? You know the kind Where a shovel counts as outdoor plumbing And you’re grateful for The softness of a leaf?
Tuesday, December 26, 2023
The altar rail is a microcosm of a universe held together by sacrament. Imposed ashes speak louder than the words. The priest says “Remember thou art dust." But in their eyes, and his, it sounds more like “This year, or perhaps next, I will commend your ashes, not these." “The body of Christ” is heard in ten thousand ways, most of them unspoken. The altar rails is the cosmos in micro.