POETRY from https://liturgies4life.substack.com

May spring return to you 
little by little each lightening day, 
in small, forgiving signs:
a green shoot springing up from earth, 
a morning warm enough for bare arms, 
a bird preening on a distant branch, 
a feather turning slowly through the air.

May you remember 
that the world is not made safe 
by your fear of it.

May your heart race 
and still carry you forward. 
May your hands tremble 
and still find the handlebars. 
May you pause when you need to, 
listen to the warning in your body, 
and continue only when you are ready.

Bless the paths that open 
around the tall gums. 
Bless the companions who call, 
“INCOMING!” 
and stay close until the danger passes.
Bless the creatures who defend 
what they love, 
even when their love arrives 
with sharp beaks and beating wings.

And when something soft 
falls unexpectedly into your keeping, 
may you receive it as a sacred gift
that holds a lesson especially for you
in this particular season. 

May you enter this spring 
with courage tucked into your pocket— 
small, imperfect and weightless,
and may you discover 
that you can be afraid 
and go back (or forward)
anyway.

Round stained-glass desert scene labeled “SEASON OF CREATION”

Season of Creation – 27 Sept.

September: Sustaining

Throughout September, our Old Testament readings trace a wilderness journey: a people fed with bread they cannot hoard, given water from an unlikely rock, and taught, again and again, that provision comes as a gift rather than a possession.

Alongside these stories, Paul and Matthew ask what it is to live as people bound to one another in Christian relationship: forgiving debts we could not repay ourselves, welcoming those who see us differently, and receiving grace that unsettles our sense of what is fair.

Together, they invite us into a season of sustaining – trusting what we’re given, tending what we share, and discovering that enough, offered freely, is enough.

Exodus 17:1-7 | Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16 | Philippians 2:1-13 |
Matthew 21:23-32

We are again in the wilderness and in the vineyard in this week’s lectionary. They seem to be repeating frames for lessons on God’s graciousness and human forgetfulness, and on the power of how we remember both to shape our present reality.

Last week, the recently-set-free Israelites grumbled about hunger – and God provided manna and quail as their daily bread. Within just one chapter, the pattern repeats: now they are thirsty, yet their response is identical, quarrelling with Moses and testing whether God is really with them.

In Matthew’s vineyard, one son says yes to his father and never shows up, while the other says no and then goes and does the work anyway. The parable is about a change of mind and of heart that brings tax collectors and prostitutes into the kin-dom realm far faster than the religious leaders who say all of the right words but have no follow-through.

In Philippians 2, Paul points the church to Jesus who let go of status and graciously became a servant even though it cost him his life. That’s the story the early church is told to believe and live out in the way they treat one another.

The Psalm reminds us to keep telling that story of what God has already done so that the next generation will not forget it quite as easily as the wilderness generation did. Remembering well, out loud, and on purpose is how a community is sustained in God’s grace when the journey gets hard.

PrayerPoem

God of grace,
even in the places where memory has run out ….

We are thirsty again.

We have forgotten the manna,
the quail,
the morning mercies gathered
one day at a time.

We have mistaken
the absence of ease
for the absence of you,
and quarrelled with one another
as though fear were proof
that we have been abandoned:
is the Lord among us, or not?

We begin with a NO:
the ashamed,
the angry,
the uncertain,

but, like water from the rock,
the shape of Jesus, the servant,
unclenches our grip on glory
and gets our hands ready
for the costly work of love.

Oh tell us the story again!

Tell us of bread
in the barren place,
of water from the rock,
of mercy that kept pace
with a forgetful people

that we might tell it true:
tell it to the children,
tell it before they ask,
tell it, especially,

             when the water 
has not yet come ....
Off the Skeleton Coast of Namibia, at sunset

Feel free to leave a comment below with your reflections or ways this week’s readings and prayer speak to your journey. You’re also invited to subscribe for weekly prayer-poem downloads and deeper reflections.

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