When You Stop Walking on Water

For those stepping out of parish ministry

The rhythms are different
this side of the pulpit.
Like walking ashore
after hours
or weeks
on rocking waves,
your sea legs may persist awhile,
unsteadying your gait
and haunting your dreams
with the sensation of motion
in the midst of unmoving crowds.

You will look up at the night sky
and forget you do not have to plot a course
between the rocks and the reef,
charting seasons and casting stories
by force of longstanding habit.

You may not miss the grueling hours
or the demands of captaining your crew,
the churn of stomach in stormy waters
or the constant vigilance for dangers hidden
just below the surface,
but at times you will look out upon the shining, shifting ocean
and find yourself unmoored by dazzling splendor
or grim eternity,
the tides that keep on changing
while you are standing still.

There are blessings in this landlubber's life,
as all the throngs who never went to sea
can easily testify.
But have patience with yourself
as you relearn how to walk on solid ground.
For you have seen beyond the horizon
and you yet carry with you
the knowledge of winds and weather,
rising and falling,
harnessing the elements
to move through time and space.

Here, too, is Sabbath
and starlight
and soaring toward mystery,
even in stillness.
Even on land.

© 2014 Kerry Greenhill

A Blessing for Those Beginning a New Ministry Appointment

to be read with the tongue positioned gently in the cheek

May your car start easily and your keys turn smoothly to open the church doors;
may your accompanist arrive early and your liturgist be on time.
May you accurately gauge the height of chancel steps and the length of your robe,
and may your microphone amplify your voice without ear-splitting feedback.
May your sermon notes remain in order and your mouth not get too dry;
may your insights find a landing place in ears and hearts and minds.
May your congregation welcome you with grace and hospitality,
and wait until you’ve learned their names before triangulating you in their drama.
May your preaching be genuine and your own heart be fully present,
and may the Holy Mystery surround and fill and meet you in this new place,
today and each day that you are here.

© 2014 Kerry Greenhill

Water Breaks

Another new year, another renewed commitment to writing. But this year I have a plan, and even with a baby on the way, I really will make it happen!

Here's a prayer-poem for the Baptism of Jesus, which is this Sunday. 

Water Breaks

Frozen, it expands

until it cannot be contained

by pipes too fixed and firm

in their places. 

Rushing, it roars 

through canyons and down streambeds

washing away dust, 

mud, rock, road,

truck, house, church, 

town. 

Pulsing, it pours

or trickles down the legs

after months of suspending 

a growing miracle

as another woman 

crosses the threshold

toward meeting her descending child. 

Lapping, it opens

as a man's head emerges

from the quiet murky mystery

into shimmering, dove-shaped

light. 

Dripping and dancing, it blesses

infant, child, youth, adult

with the grace that goes before us, 

tearing down walls 

between sisters and brothers,

smashing the chains of alienation,

anger, judgment, fear, 

addiction, apathy, despair,

and death. 

May the water within you

and around you

break 

in ways that make life

and wholeness

more possible each day. 

Permission is granted to use this prayer-poem in worship. Please acknowledge with (c) Kerry Greenhill, 2014.

God of the Whirlwind (a prayer-poem from a safe distance)

Great, generative, expansive God,
we live in this universe beyond comprehension
on a planet we sometimes think we own,
and we narrow our vision to human-sized concerns:
paychecks and home repair, love and betrayal,
the silence of infertility or the chaotic clutter of children's clamor.
We forget how wide and unbending the continent,
how vast and all-conceiving the sea.
Yet our sacred stories bear witness that you are not uncaring,
that the sparrow no less than the sperm whale
is worthy of your fierce tenderness.
We are like the blades of grass
that flourish for a season and then vanish,
like the crimson sulfur amber leaves
that drift from outstretched limbs
to re-enter the cycle of death and transformation.
These winds, wild whirling clouds and whipping rain
that lash and batter land, sea, islands, trees,
beaches and buildings,
landmarks and lilies --
they do not speak of grace or blessing,
love or life abundant,
as far as we can see,
and so we pray to be kept out of their way,
safe from harm in your embrace.
Yet when there will be suffering,
for lilies and grass and sparrows and whales,
who are we to exempt ourselves from it?
Just one more species crying out for preservation,
when all along we have not protected others
(not our sisters who are beaten or our brothers who are bullied,
not our children who are addicted or our mothers who are neglected,
not our fathers who are trained to kill and be killed,
or our grandparents who are left alone without memory,
not even our rivers or trees or sea or sky,
who provide for our needs world without end amen).
We seek your mercy, since we see you as all-powerful,
but perhaps what we need even more is to hear
in the silence after the storm
your still, small voice
inviting us to pray
with our hands, feet, eyes, mouths,
hearts, bodies, and souls,
that the world will be made whole
that the world will be made holy
that the hole will be made well
and the well would hold out hope
for the hopeless and the powerless and the small and the still
that we all would be made one
in sorrow, in joy, in struggle, in healing,
that the whirlwind would bring no death
without new life
and that each life would be seen as precious
in the whole whirling cycle of resurrection.
May our hearts be broken open
by the breaking of others,
and our lives be made whole
by humbling ourselves to hold the broken.
In the name of the teacher healer prophet mystic
rebel servant leader king,
may it be so and ever so
in the world of the whirlwind
and the swirl of the Spirit.
Amen.

Bible in Haiku, Genesis 2

Dust plus breath of life
(God's creative equation):
a living being.

Garden of Eden
two trees, four rivers, one rule.
Earth-creature tends it.

Alone is no good.
Adam names the animals
but finds no partner.

At last, flesh from flesh
and bone from bone she is born:
true companionship.

Bible in Haiku, Genesis 1

One of my resolutions this year is to make more time to write, but I've been struggling with where to start and what focus to choose. I read a reference somewhere recently (probably Twitter) to converting some big work to haiku, but didn't follow up to find out what that was about. However, I liked the idea, and thought I might take some of the better-known sections of the Bible and see what I can come up with, mainly as an exercise to get my creative juices flowing again. No great promises or grand ambitions, just a starting-point.

So without further excuses, here's my adaptation of Genesis 1:

God said, "Let there be..."
And day by day, it was so.
God called it all "good."

Light/dark, sky/below,
land/water, plants, sun/moon/stars,
and last: animals.

Made in God's image,
humans are given a task:
care for creation.

Six days of labor,
God blessed it all and rested:
Sabbath's gift to all.