This time is like all the rest only different.
This time we won’t forget kind words.
This time we’ll understand
how pain can change you.
This time we’ll call on heaven
to guide us through the chaos
and bless the earth with seeds of love.
This time we won’t be deceived.
This time we will be human.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Our Promise” with music by Eddie Vedder

I hadn’t found you
though I’d looked
in the branches above
and roots below the street,
in the faces of the serious
and the moon behind clouds.
Searching high and low
I came up empty
until I looked
in the space
where the heart
softly beats,
where dreams
are crafted,
and in the silence
without regret
there I found you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Where Dreams of Crafted” with music by Ali Farka Toure and Ry Cooder

Tell you what I’ll do.
I’ll scrub the world
with steel wool,
scrape away the grimy bits
of cruelty and war,
put soap and water
to sorrow and despair.
Fresh flowers
on all the graves,
remembrances
for the forgotten.
Silence to cleanse
the tangle of sound
then starlight
for speaking.
When you awake
you’ll find tears
of kindness
watering the garden
and green earth waiting.
That’s what I’ll do
for you this morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “In the Hour Before Dawn”

Easter 2023

 

Surrounded by noise
it’s difficult to discern
how life each day
speaks through starlight
and the colors of spring.
Tiny birds flit about,
rivers loosen as ice
releases its grip
and though your body
descends in the arc of age
the inner voice remains clear.
Why take up the sword
the closed hearted invite?
On this day
the gospel of innocence
holds space for all
and through the pain,
the long suffering and despair,
into the light of forgiveness
you rise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Gospel of Innocence” with music by Kenny Burrell

The cherry trees
soaked in rain,
the valley skies
wrapped in gray.
I watch with faith
like a druid of old,
talking quietly
to the broken earth
of my body.
Where bones grind
the lesson go slow
takes form and speaks.
Patiently I wait
with the cherry trees,
roots sunk beneath
the pavement,
drawing up beauty
from the soil
I’ve been given.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading “Where Bones Grind” with music by Netherland Bach Society