There is a time to born, and it is now (Walter Brueggemann)

There is a time to be born and a time to die.

And this is a time to be born.

So we turn to you, God of our life,

God of all our years,

God of our beginning.

Our times are in your hand.

Hear us as we pray:

For those of us too much into obedience,

birth us to the freedom of the gospel.
For those of us too much into self-indulgence,
birth us to discipleship in your ministry.

For those too much into cynicism,
birth us to the innocence of the Christ child.

For those of us too much into cowardice,

birth us to the courage to stand before

principalities and powers.

For those of us too much into guilt,

birth us into forgiveness worked in your generosity.

For those of us too much into despair,

birth us into the promises you make to your people.

For those of us too much into control,

birth us into the vulnerability of the cross.

For those of us too much into victimization,

birth us into the power of Easter.

For those of us too much into fatigue,

birth us into the energy of Pentecost.

We dare pray that you will do for us and among us and through us

what is needful for newness.

Give us the power to be receptive,

to take the newness you give,

to move from womb warmth to real life.

We make this prayer not only for ourselves, but

for our school at the brink of birth,

for the church at the edge of life,

for our city waiting for newness,

for your whole creation, with which we yearn

in eager longing.

There is a time to be born, and it is now.

We sense the pangs and groans of your newness.

Come here now in the name of Jesus. Amen.

"You who stalk the earth with new life" - Walter Brueggemann

Christ is Risen... He is risen indeed!

You Easter one

you who stalk the earth with new life,

you who soar the heavens with fresh governance,

you who traipse the seas with odd authority,

You life-giver,

You a strange anomaly among us,

for everywhere are signs of death:

...Benjamin taken in his youth,

our tax dollars at work in Serbia,

endless diagnoses among our friends,

people made redundant in all our euphemisms of "down-sizing,"

too much money and too little health care,

your church here and there nearly consumed with anxiety for itself.

And yet you appear here and there,

now and then:

You say "Fear not," and we are comforted,

You say "Peace I give you," and we are less restless,

You say "Go and sin no more," and we glimpse a new innocence,

you say and we listen,

you act and we are healed,

you... and us,

you and life,

you and newness,

you for us,

you with us,

you,

you,

you... and we are dazzled in our gratitude. Amen.

Tongues From Centuries Speaking Now

O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing (Charles Wesley, 1739)

1O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer's praise

The glories of my God and King, the triumphs of his grace

2Jesus! the name that charms our fears, that bids our sorrows cease

'Tis music in the sinners ears, 'tis life and health and peace

3He breaks the power of cancelled sin, he sets the prisoner free

His blood can make the foulest clean; his blood availed for me

4He speaks, and listening to his voice, new life the dead receive

The mournful, broken hearts rejoice, the humble poor believe

5My gracious Master and my God, assist me to proclaim

To spread through all earth abroad the honors of thy name

A thousand, a million, a trillion tongues (Walter Brueggemann, 1998)

O for a thousand tongues to sing

our great redeemer's name;

To sing beyond ourselves, extravagantly,

with abandonment,

beyond all our possibilities,

and all our fears,

and all our hopes...

to our redeemer dear, the antidote to our death,

the salve to our wounds,

the resolve of our destructiveness...

A thousand, a million, a trillion tongues,

more than our own,

more than our tradition,

more than our theology,

more than our understanding,

tongues around us,

tongues among us,

tongues from our silenced parts.

Tongues from us to you in freedom and in courage,

Finally ceding our lives and our loves to your good care. Amen.

At the dawn - Walter Brueggemann

Our first glimpse of reality this day - everyday - is your fidelity.

We are dazzled by the ways you remain constant among us,

in season, out of season,

for better, for worse,

in sickness and in health.

You are there in watchfulness as we fall asleep;

You are there in alertness when we awaken...and we are glad.

Before the day ends, we will have occasion

to flag your absence in indifference...

but not now, not at the dawn.

Before the day ends, we will think more than once

that we need a better deal from you...

but not now, not at the dawn.

Before the day ends, we will look away from you and

relish our own fidelity and our virtue in mercy...

but not now, not at the dawn.

Now, at the dawn, our eyes are fixed on you in gladness.

We ask only that your faithfulness

permeate every troubled place we are able to name

that your mercy

move against the hurts to make new,

that your steadfastness

hold firmly what is too fragile on its own.

And we begin the day in joy, in hope, and in deep gladness. Amen.

Not the kingdom of death - Walter Brueggemann

Christ is risen!
We give thanks for the gift of Easter
that runs beyond our explanations,
beyond our categories of reason,
even more, beyond the sinking sense of our own lives.
We know about the powers of death,
powers that persist among us,
powers that drive us from you, and
from our neighbor, and
from our best selves.
We know about the powers of fear and greed and anxiety,
and brutality and certitude.
powers before which we are helpless.
And then you... you at dawn, unquenched,
you in the darkness,
you on Saturday,
you who breaks the world to joy.
Yours is the kingdom... not the kingdom of death,
Yours is the power... not the power of death,
Yours is the glory... not the glory of death.
Yours... You... and we give thanks
for the newness beyond our achieving.
Amen.

"Lachrimae Amantis" - Geoffrey Hill

What is there in my heart
that you should sue so fiercely for its love?
What kind of care brings you
as though a stranger to my door
through the long night and in the icy dew

seeking the heart that will not harbor you,
that keeps itself religiously secure?
At this dark solstice filled with frost and fire
your passion’s ancient wounds must bleed anew.

So many nights the angel of my house
has fed such urgent comfort through a dream,
whispered “your lord is coming, he is close”

that I have drowsed half-faithful for a time
bathed in pure tones of promise and remorse:
“tomorrow I shall wake to welcome him.”