Blogging toward Sunday

The Lectionary texts for Sunday, March 18th, include Numbers 21:4-9 and John 3:14-21.

The Old Testament reading from Numbers is quite an intriguing story. You may wish to read it this week and reflect on it a bit before turning to the New Testament reading. In case you need a little extra motivation, the sermon title for Sunday is "Death on a Pole." Yes, you will likely want to read both passages in preparation for worship.

We are in the middle of the Lenten season, and these days just before Easter tend to pass so quickly.  As we journey along, trying to find moments for quiet meditation in the midst of rushing to and fro, isn't it good to be reminded of God's love that is all around us, in the cracks and crevices of all of life. When I feel the urge to slow down, keep time in a different way, I tend to go to the poets. They have a way of putting things differently; often times shining rays of light just where it's most needed. Having said that, I hope you enjoy the following poem taken from A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997 by Wendell Berry.

1992: VIII

I have again come home

through miles of sky

from hours of abstract talk

in the way of modern times

when humans live in their minds

and the world, forgotten, dies

into explanations. Weary

with absence, I return to earth.

"Good to see you back down

on the creek!" Martin Rowanberry

would say if he were here

to say it, as he'll not be again.

I have departed and returned 

too many times to forget

that after all returns

one departure will remain.

I bring the horses down

off the hillside, harness them,

and start the morning's work,

the team quick to the load

along the narrow road.

I am weary with days

of travel, with poor sleep,

with time and error,

with every summer's heat

and blood-drinking flies.

And yet I sink into

the ancient happiness

of slow work in unhastenable

days and years. Horse and cow,

plow and hoe, grass to graze

and hay to mow have brought me

here, and taught me where I am.

I work in absence not yet mine

that will be mine. In time

this place has come to signify

the absence of many, and always

more, who once were here.

Day by day their voices

come to me, as from the air.

I remember them in what I do.

So I am not a modern man.

In my work I would be known

by forebears of a thousand years

if they were here to see it.

So it has been. So be it.

May the Lord pour blessings upon you and those you love this week. I look forward to seeing you in worship on Sunday.

Shalom,

Glenda