Weeds

Dearly Beloved,

Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
God, thank you for the offer
to whisper to me through passing moments,
to nudge me without words continually,
to offer grace in odd places. It's kind of you.
Quaint, really, and sweet. But unnecessary.
I know what I believe (thank you
for supporting me in this) and that's all I need.
I know what's a flower and what's a weed.
I already know your Word. I've already decided
how fruitful this day is going to be,
how worthy the person I'm about to meet,
when and where I will encounter you
and when I won't.
I mostly won't.
But I've already got this moment figured out,
how you are present in it,
what ways your grace is hidden here,
how you will speak to me.
Sad to say, there's not much mystery here:
no blessing secreted in a seemingly dull
or difficult passage, no divine providence,
no Presence thinly veiled by apparent things,
no gifts in silence or suffering, no good
mixed in with evil, or grief with gratitude.
You are elsewhere, I have determined.
This moment is abstract, generic, impersonal.
This light is just physics, this bread is just bread.
Your Word is arranged, according to protocol
(thank you), and I seek it in all the right places,
grateful to know where, and where not
to bother to look.
Sunsets, yes, patriotic displays,
success stories, devotional quotes. But not—
well, you know, all that other stuff.
True, there is some mess at the edges,
some inexplicable ambiguity and overlap,
but we're cleaning that up. It's a field of weeds,
but we'll have it cleared in no time.
Anyway, thank you for your kind attention.
I'll see you Sunday morning,
9:30 to 10:30.
Amen.

___________________

Weather Report

There is no forecast today.
You're just going to have to
watch and see.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net