I just wrote this song over the past couple of days. I’m pretty sure I stole the chords and the melody from another song in the podcast. Oops. I was looking for some hope in these days and a friend mentioned Julian of Norwich, so of course I went back to her glorious visions and remembered “all will be well, all will be well, all will be well.” Now she survived the plague, so she saw some stuff. This wasn’t a light statement for her. Somehow she held all the trouble and the pain alongside joy and hope. She moved through the suffering to the heart of God. She wasn’t avoiding the reality of her days — I feel like she dove down into it with abandon and there she found freedom and connection. She found a love that held all these these things together. So I just started singing those words, all will be well, over and over again and it helped it start to sink down in my soul. Eventually this song happened. Here’s all will be well.

Here's a blessing to take with you:

As you go,

may the uncertainty of these days

not weigh you down

or leave you in despair.

May the seedling possibilities

before you not entangle you 

or leave you in fear of choosing

this way or that,

but may you find a lightness

as you release the outcomes

and the final form of the future

and embrace the holy Now.

May grace rise up

as you see again

an economy of love,

not fettered to this dust,

that shares each moment’s grace

with abandon.

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Here’s a song I wrote to say thanks to my congregation on my ordination.  I wrote it last week—the lyrics basically came out start to finish while I was walking one morning.  That hasn’t happened for a while.  I made a few edits, and it took a while to find the melody, but it was a pretty quick process. Sunday reminded me what matters most is simply presence.  Grace shows up when we're chatting in the hallway or having coffee or telling stories. And somehow my digressions and my faltering words and my awkward moments fell into grace.  Somehow they were translated by love.

Here’s a blessing to take with you:

As you go, may you take the hand

of your Divine Mother

who guides you in gentleness and peace.

May you trust in her wisdom.

May you feel her joy at your presence.

And may the armor of your heart

fall away

as you are fully-known—

that you might live openhearted,

part of this great company

of grace.

Go in peace.

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This song has been in my head a lot recently.  I wrote it more than a decade ago.  I remember sitting on the back porch in our first house, looking up at the rich blue of late evening while it got too dark to see.  It was a darkness that wasn’t dark. It was like a sea of blue coating everything around—dying the whole world some translucent indigo. I suppose our vision is always colored in some way.  Perhaps seeing the blueness of our endings is a good way to see. 

Here’s a blessing to take with you this week:

May you find that

your brokenness is no shame,

your weakness is no burden,

your uncertainty is not a lack,

and your heartache is not unnoticed,

for you are beloved.

May you know that love

that does not overlook,

but looks deeply,

that does not seek perfection

except to perfectly love,

and that welcomes you

into this glorious mystery.

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Whatever you believe about it, I think it’s pretty obvious that we need each other.  We’re made for community.  We’re made for connection.  I think it’s in those connections where we’ll find healing and grace and new life.  So may you have a  happy pride however you celebrate, and may you know that you belong.

Here’s a blessing to take with you this week:

As you go

May you find shade from the sun and

shelter from the passing storm.

May you find cool water in the dry places and

warm fires in the night.

And may you find your burden a little lighter,

eased by your traveling companions as

the divine Spirit gathers us

to share each others' loads.

Go in peace.

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I wrote this song back in 2021 when we were still in the throes of the pandemic.  As is the case with a lot of the songs I’ve written in the past several years, I wrote it for a service at church.  The theme that day was pretty simple — the love of God.  Simple, yes, but there’s an eternity in that simple phrase.  The love of God, or use whatever term you like — the ground of our being, what connects us, the heartbeat that unites us.  It’s an ever unfolding reality where we are invited to join in.  Somewhere in that love we are made whole and we are undone.  We are unraveled and completed.  We are cherished and we learn to cherish.  There we find that we are lost and found, alone and cosmically united with Life.

Here’s a blessing to take with you this week:

As we go

May we go together,

calling each other by our true names—

our eyes amazed at each one we see,

shining like the sun.

Trusting in the promise

that love is the ground that we walk upon,

that love is the air that we breathe,

that love is our true sustenance and energy for each day,

and that love is always reaching out, gathering in, and weaving us together—

a wild and rich menagerie of grace.

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Sometimes what we bring with us makes us close ourselves off in fear rather than remain open and curious. I’ve got a suspicion that we have to find that light within us to be able to truly resonate with that light in others. So kindness to ourselves isn’t selfish. It’s part of our journey to wholeness.

Here's a blessing to take with you this week:

As you go,

May you remember who you truly are.

Beneath all your worries,

beneath your ego and anxiety,

there is a child loved by God,

through and through—

one who carries

the spark of the divine effortlessly,

in the quiet awareness

ff full belonging

and beloved presence.

So as you go, go in joy

In peace,

In love,

And in light.

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I've been trying to prayer the Jesus Prayer lately: "Lord Jesus have mercy on me, a sinner." While in the past this prayer has been a reminder of my unworthiness, as I started envisioning the presence of Christ with me, I saw there was no shame in “sinner.” There’s just love. I thought about Jesus getting in trouble for eating with sinners, hanging out with riffraff. Sinner is a perfectly fine thing. And I need some mercy too, because there's a part of me that runs and hides, ashamed of my failures and mistakes. There's a part that’s so defended and afraid to show up in the light. Maybe that part can be pulled in by the current of love, carried along in grace.

Here’s a blessing to take with you:

As you go,

May you find the river of peace

flowing through every moment—

alongside your doubts

and fears

and heartaches,

underneath your joys and excitement.

May you feel it rushing between your toes

as you find you are intertwined

with every soul.

May you let go

into the flow of that river

where we all belong.

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I used to think faith was about believing the right things. Now I wonder if faith is more about accepting our acceptedness. What if acceptance of our failures and neediness and shortcomings and hurts is the real gateway transformation? I wonder if faith is falling into the grace that the divine already accepts me. 

Here’s a blessing to take with you as you go:

As you go,

May you find yourself

caught up in the flow of grace—

an Ever unraveling love

flowing from the heart of God

(and somehow flowing from the center of your heart as well).

May you find this love connecting you

with the deep heart of all things.

May your hands move with compassion.

May your feet travel in peace.

May your eyes find kindred everywhere you look.

And may you become one with the

light of Love in you.

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One day while I was sitting out in left field in my camping chair watching the kids field grounders and chase pop ups, I started thinking about the lessons I’ve learned while watching baseball. The games are long and the seasons are long. You just have a few chances each game to make a hit. So it’s a game of patience, perseverance, and being in the moment — right here and now.

Here’s a blessing to take with you:

As you go,

May you step into this world

with the wonder of a child.

May your eyes trace the mystery of sunsets.

May your ears dance with the trills of birdsong.

May your feet wander onto new paths,

and may your heart settle into the wholeness

that has been there since you were

a glimmer in God's eye.

Go in peace.

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This song is one I just finished for our Maundy Thursday service, so it hasn’t been played anywhere yet.  It’s really just an invitation to reflect on this evening of Holy Week from the Last Supper to the Mount of Olives where Jesus went to pray.  We imagine together what Jesus might be thinking and follow him along the way. I suppose that’s the best we can do—let ourselves be in the mystery of the dance of human and divine and see what happens in our own hearts.

Here's a blessing for the week:

May you see that God

welcomes all

the broken,

the lost,

forgotten, and

the hurt.

May you find that all

those parts of you

you'd rather forget about

and ignore

belong too.

May you find the resilience of frailty,

the brilliance of shadow,

the tenderness of heartbreak,

the resolve of weakness,

the peace of darkness,

the hope of uncertainty,

the wonder of each moment.

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