A Prayer for the Coming of the Light

17The snow is melting, the air is crisp
I sit in meeting for worship
Notice the ticking of the clock
A siren screeches
The benches creak
Bodies situate themselves
Resting their bones
Taking a breath, waiting

The noise revs up in my head
The ‘to do’ list, the moments I said the wrong thing, the news of a friend’s illness
The awareness of all the walls we erect to keep what will heal us out

I let the clamor go by, I settle
Underneath the din, I reach the interior
I exhale and feel the sorrow

For the pain of the lost city
For communities denied love
For ancestors with hearts of stone
For all the armor that must fall away for peace

My heart races, I stand and speak, my voice shakes

“Hold still, feel the turbulence of creation
The old world is crumbling
The Light is on the edge of slumber
Lend your hands to the labor
Midwife the spiritual birth.”

I sit, still shaken
My heart lies down
A hush encircles us
A sparrow trills outside the open door


Watch our poet chat with Lucy:

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