This week’s gospel reminds of the story of a prominent citizen, a member of the establishment, who seeks out Jesus (the radical prophet) for a meeting. The familiar words of Jesus “You must be born from above (or anew)” in this night-time encounter with Nicodemus are often heard as a harsh commandment, and have been used by some faithful to impugn the faith of others. Rev. Rachel spoke of it differently in her sermon. Not with a wagging finger, but with a tone of recognition and wonder: “My word, Nicodemus. For YOU (a Pharisee) to think I came from God, you must be heaven sent! The wind of God blows in surprising places, doesn’t it?” What if so much of what we hear as condemnation is actually meant to heal and save? What if our job is not to restore the “correctness” of others, but to restore their God-given loveliness? Here is both Rev. Rachel’s prayer offered by Maya Todd, our liturgist, after the sermon, and the poem Rev. Rachel shared as our modern day Psalm reflection. May God’s deep loveliness shine in you all this week.

Prayer

God of light, shine upon each of us in our darkest places.  Illumine our fears and anxieties, and help us to see them as smaller than they feel.  Brighten our hopes for loving and being loved, and grow our ability to love and be loved by others.  Transform us into your disciples, heralds of your light in the dark places of the world, and burn the fire of courageous love within each of us.  Amen.

Saint Francis and the Sow

By Galway Kinnell
 
The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;
as Saint Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow, and told her in words and in touch
blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow
began remembering all down her thick length,
from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,
from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.