March 12, 2008

 

That day I saw beneath dark clouds

the passing light over the water

and I heard the voice of the world speak out

I knew then, as I had before

life is no passing memory of what has been

nor the remaining pages in a great book

waiting to be read.

It is the opening of eyes long closed.

It is the vision of far off things

seen for the silence they hold.

It is the heart after years

of secret conversing

speaking out loud in the clear air.

It is Moses in the desert

fallen to his knees before the lit bush.

It is the man throwing away his shoes

as if to enter heaven

and finding himself astonished,

opened at last,

fallen in love with solid ground.

Fallen in love with solid ground.

Your own soil.

You are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Holy words.

Soil. Dirt.

But when I feel dirty, I usually feel: unlovable, unacceptable.

I felt a little embarrassed, perhaps, but also had a sense of trust about it.

Blah!

Moaning, sobbing, retching.

Holding a rough hewn rock to that spot on my chest, that the rock may soak up some of this deep energy. That it may draw it forth.

Prophesy to the breath.

Out of the depths I cry to you, o Lord!

Out of my depths.

I am out of my depth!

DRY BONES. Valley full of bones. Mortal, can these bones live?

Prophesy to the breath!

We may fear that Lazarus stinks, but Jesus welcomes him to come out.

As we enter these last two weeks of Lent, I wonder: where is the dirt?

Amen.

 

[For offertory immediately following sermon: David Whyte CDClose to Home, track 3, “The Opening of Eyes.”]