Our Sanctuaries No Longer Safe Harbor

God of the whirlwind and storm
Why must you still sleep?
Surely you know we continue to sail into the storm.
Our sanctuaries,
once safe harbor in the storms
have become like sand castles
–their walls no longer a fortress.

Do you not care that your children are perishing?
People of color
from the north and the south
the east and the west.

How long, O God, how long?

You rebuke the wind and the rain
You rebuke us.
There can be no peace
without justice.


Holy One
Higher Power
Whoever or Whatever You are
There are times where I wonder
Are you there?
Do you even care?

In my most raw moments
I find myself turning from You
Turning in
Tuning out
Shutting down.

Rage that boils
Spills pain and grief
Like blood on the streets–
Streets in our city
Streets in our nation
Streets in our world.

How long, O Lord, how long?

My childhood belief yearns for a Super Hero Savior,
One in a cape
One that doesn’t just hear people’s cries
But swoops in to stop the pain.

In the silence I hear You whisper:
Be still.
Be still and know.

I don’t want to be still.
I want saving for…
I want rescuing from…
I want…

Perhaps that is the gift.
The gift of
I want
The gift of
We want
The gift of desperation
The gift of anger.

Come now, Holy One
Break the shackles of fear and shame.
Open us to the refiner’s fire in which we find ourselves.
Equip us to harness our anger
That we might risk responding rather than retreating or reacting.
Give us the courage not only to speak for peace–
But to practice peace:
Peace in our hearts
Peace in our homes
Peace in our communities.
This peace that comes from You
A peace that is not cheap or easy
A peace that does not remove the chaos and conflict
A peace that points the direction of a world waiting to be born.
Help us midwife that world.


Great Creator

I see the gift of autumn

in the glory of crimson and gold,

and the abundance of the harvest.

Still the bitter-sweet taste of sage

Flavors all I swallow.

This harvest season

These fields,

the ones that have nurtured my growth,

Are now fallow.

The bounty of their final season


They are to remain barren.

I believe in the miracle

Of the womb

And the empty tomb

But for today

My eyes see only empty horizon.