Easter Garden

In the garden
Where I wept
Jesus called my name.

Rowan Tree

A Conversation between Christ and the Rowan Tree

O Rowan Tree, weep not for me.
Limb on limb, I lie outstretched,
Thou hold’st me up in thine own arms,
Thou cradlest me from birth.
Weep not, weep not, O Rowan Tree,
Weep not for me.

O Christ, I can’st but weep for Thee,
I sorrow to be the instrument of torture for Thy limbs.
My tears pour down in steady flow,
The sap pours from my wounds,
Where nails have held Thee fast to me.
I did but wish to cradle Thee as in the manger days,
And now I weep from guilt.
Sorrowing, I weep for Thee.

O Rowan Tree, thou should’st not weep,
The sin is man’s not thine.
See, here, I bless thy flowing tears
And make them drops of wine.
Blood red, henceforth, thy berries be,
Thy berries, red as blood,
Thy tears, blood red as wine,
Wine red, as my own blood.

Quiet Moment

My spirit cannot gain a quiet moment,
It cannot hear your voice out in the world
Amongst the mighty torrent that surrounds it
From morning radio blare to traffic roar.
Too many images bombard my tired eyes
And holiness is lost
Within the tragic sights
Of murder, war, and cruelty on nightly news.

A breath of quiet calls me to the wilderness
To heal my inward ears and eyes;
To give my soul and spirit rest
In open desert and oasis shade.
I pitch my tent beneath the spacious skies
And count the heavenly bodies bright above.
Each star pronounces healing to my troubled sighs
Through the Creator’s vast and wondrous love.

Here in the wilderness, my restless anguish is released.
My soul and body, mind and spirit
Open to renewal, like flowers in the sun;
I am freed to see and hear the truth again.
I prepare to walk into the world once more
To offer myself in God’s service,
To give myself in Christ’s love.
Here I am, receive me; here I am, send me.

Desert Sands

Desert sands call to us
Oases bring us rest and shade;
Lenten hours of quiet time
Renew us in our faith.