Last Sunday Of Epiphany – The Transfiguration (Yr C)

(Luke 9: 28-36)
“. . .but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory”

Awaken us.

Awaken us in the fall of the snow, the drop of the rain,
      the crash of the rolling thunder.
Awaken us in the song of the bird, the laugh of the child,
      the gentle hug from another.

Awaken us in the flick of the fish, the leap of the fox,
      the lean of the weeping willow.
Awaken us in the sift of the breeze, the lift of the hymn,
      the gift of a bed and pillow.

Awaken us in the peal of the bell, the coffee’s smell,
      the feel of running water.
Awaken us in the starlight’s gleam, the hot meal’s steam,
      the flash of the diving otter.

Awaken us in the eagle’s flight, the mountain’s height,
      the joy of the talk with a friend.
Awaken us in early morning calm, the medicine’s balm,
      the quiet of evening’s end.

Awaken us in the sip of wine, the warm sunshine,
      the colour of leaves in autumn.
Awaken us in the caring word, the truth that’s heard,
      the fragrance of spreading blossoms.

Awaken us far, awaken us near,
      awaken us with your story.
Awaken us from where we have come to be here,
      awakened to all your glory.

Copyright ©2016 by Andrew King

Poem For The Sunday Lectionary (Epiphany 4, Yr C)

(Luke 4: 21-30)

There you go again, God, moving to the margins,
taking love to the outcast and the alien,
breaking through the barriers we’ve constructed from our prejudice,
a light that shines into the world’s dark corners;
unfettered by our selfishness, unhindered by our blindness,
there you go, defying our expectations,
surprising us with the wideness of your grace.

There you go again, God, slipping through our fingers,
escaping from the boxes put around you,
crossing fences of theology we build to hold you prisoner,
a wind that blows beyond our closed horizons;
uncaptured by our doctrines, unbounded by our dogmas,
there you go, defying our expectations,
surprising us with the freedom of your grace.

There you go again, God, calling us to a journey,
prodding us to leave our shells of comfort,
bidding us to examine the rigid shelters of our thinking,
a voice that reaches deep within our souls;
undiscouraged by our stubbornness, patient in our fearfulness,
there you go, defying our expectations,
surprising us with the closeness of your grace.

Copyright ©2016 by Andrew King

Poem For The Sunday Lectionary (Epiphany 3,Yr C)

(Luke 4: 14-21)

Lord, be the one who reads to us this morning.

Speak to us the words of Holy Scripture.

May your words enter the air like breezes wafting,
enter the air like spring rain strongly falling,
like birds dipping and diving over the quiet pond
of your people’s attentive listening.

Let your words enter our blood like quick fish swimming,
swimming as if exploring the streams of home,
urgent as if to seek a place of spawning,
flashing like dreams reflecting on memory’s stones.

May your words enter our minds as sharpened instruments,
edged like a master carpenter’s metal tools
that cut into the wood of hardened thinking,
that cut across the grain of dark imaginings,
that carve out bold new shapes for our minds to use.

Let your words burn in our hearts as fragments of flame
with brightness almost beyond our eyes’ beholding,
kindling fires of hope from despair’s dark ashes
in visions of life reborn from oppression’s shadow,
vivid with joy and the glory of grace unveiled.

Then let the words sing in our souls like a harmony of nations
chorusing together in thanks for a world made new.
And the song that rises like sun in the freshness of morning
is the music of your people praising what God’s love can do.

Copyright ©2016 by Andrew King

Poem For The Sunday Lectionary (Epiphany 2, Yr C)

(John 2: 1-11)

Can we agree, my fellow servants, that we
have let the jars stand empty far too long?

Perhaps it was because we carefully measured
their deep and yawning cavities
and the long distances to the wells
and the labour required
to carry the water to fill them,
and decided to postpone the arduous chore
for just a little longer;

or perhaps because there have been a few
notable individuals
whose heroic efforts to fill the jars
have been observed and praised,
but who
could not fill the jars completely,
and now we ourselves are wondering
what we can possibly do
that would make that much of a difference;

and after all,
that jar so low on justice,
that one so drained of compassion,
the one that rings so hollow where
we have hoped for peace –
we peered into their depths and determined
they’re not entirely dry:
surely there’s enough of water there
for some miracle to be made of it
without us having to bend our backs
to carry the heavy buckets;
surely God in Christ
can provide the needed wine,
the needed health for our hurting world,
without our full participation . . .

But no.
Christ has given us
tasks to do
and the festal joy will not
be complete without them.
I’m sure we agree, my fellow servants,
that the work to do is difficult.
But can we also agree
that we have let the jars
stand empty far too long?
The wedding guests
are waiting.

Copyright © 2016 by Andrew King

Poem For The Sunday Lectionary (Baptism of Jesus, Yr C)

(Luke 3: 15-17, 21-22)

River of God’s grace,
       where will you touch us this morning?
Through whom, river of grace,
       will you pour out today?
May all God’s children know
       your gift of acceptance.
And may all who seek that strength
       taste the fullness of joy.

Dove of the Spirit,
       where are you flying this morning?
On whom, Spirit Dove,
       will you rest today?
May all God’s children know
       the peace of your presence.
And may all who bow in prayer
       feel the wingbeats of joy.

God who is love,
       where will you speak this morning?
In whom, God of love,
       will your voice ring today?
May all your children know
       their call to be loving.
And may all who respond in faith
       share the good news of joy.

Jesus our Lord,
       where will you lead us this morning?
As whom, Christ our Lord,
       will we leave here today?
May all God’s children know
       the new life of the river.
And celebrate its blessings
       on our way toward joy.

Copyright © 2016 by Andrew King