Prayer for Lent by Solveyg Fischer

I`m standing here, closing my eyes,

Thinking of You – the perfect sacrifice,

Oh Lamb of God, you will be slained,

And I – don’t know what to abstain.

Oh make me able – truly – to repent!

Preparing me for You – let this be Lent!


New come, we took fields by Wendell Berry (Sabbaths 2011)

New come, we took fields
from the forest, clearing, breaking
the steep slopes. And this was
a fall from a kind of grace:
from the forest in its long Sabbath,
dependent only upon
the Genius of this place, to the field
dependent upon us, our work,
and our failure first and last
to keep peace between
the naked soil and the rain.
From the laws of the First Former
we fell to the place deformed.
The hard rains fell then
into our history, from grace
to fate upon our gullied land.

We numbered the years, not many,
until the forest took back
the failed fields with their scars
unhealed and long in healing,
our toil forfeit to the trees
of a new generation: locust,
cedar, box elder, elm,
and thorn. In spring the redbud
and wild plum, white and pink
on the abandoned slopes, granted
such beauty as we might
have thought forgiving.

By leaving it alone, we are
in a manner forgiven. And yet
we must wait long, long–
how much longer than we
will live?–for the return of what
is gone, not of the past
forever lost, but of health,
the promise of life in and
remade finally whole.

Left alone, the “pioneer
generation” of trees gives way
to the oaks, hickories, maples,
beeches, poplars of the lasting

By keeping intact
its gift of self-renewal, not
as our belonging, but asking how
we might belong to it,
what we might use of it
for ourselves, leaving it whole,
we may come to live in its
time, in which our lives will pass
as pass the lives of birds
within the lives of trees.


Prayer for light by Solveyg Fischer

Blue darkness all around me
oh Lord, where shall I go?
Out of despair I call thee
let thy kindness flow
Let thy light bright shine
and show me thy way
forever I’ll be thine
forever to thee I’ll pray

Thy path for me is winding
it leads through valleys green
crosses stormy rivers
thy path is badly seen.
Thou gavest me thy light
thy path I’ll never faile
Forever be my guide
forever with thou I’ll sail

The booming waves are roaring
whirling me around
thy hand the sea is calming
takes me to safe ground
In thy peace I’m resting
nestling to thy Love
this song of praise I’m singing
attending to thee above


In His Image by Cindy Wyneken

“So God created human beings in his own image…”

It’s like when that man stays behind

every single week

to sweep up after everyone else is done socializing.

And he never points to himself,

and he never complains

… that’s the image of God.


It’s like when a group of teenagers,

who are trying to look cool for each other,

suddenly smile and wave at a little girl in a wheelchair.

And they’re no longer worried

about whether they look cool or not

… that’s the image of God.


It’s like when a group of people,

each with a different instrument in their hands,

sit down and start to play —

and magnificent music comes out

… that’s the image of God.


It’s like when Africans dance when they sing,

and Germans organize everything so perfectly,

and Americans are so open and friendly,

and the French make masterpieces in the kitchen,

and the Filipinos are so hospitable,

and dozens of other wonderful things that each country does a little bit differently

… that’s the image of God.


It’s like when there’s an explosion

with people screaming and blood pouring —

and some people run toward the danger instead of away,

in order to help

… that’s the image of God.


It’s like when a young person gets up so an older woman can sit down —

It’s like when someone hands food to a homeless person, smiles and walks away —

It’s like when a young kid finds a special way to give joy to children half a world away —

It’s like when a rich person gives a ton of money to help end poverty —

It’s like when poor people help out any way they can because they can’t give money —

… that’s the image of God.


It’s like each little awesome thing

that humans do every single day —

like threads in a tapestry —

each thread may not seem like much,

but together they make a glorious work of art

… that’s the image of God.


“In the image of God he created them.”



A meditation from Archbishop Rowan Williams

The Cry to God as ‘Father’in the New Testament

is not a calm acknowledgementof a universal truth about God’s abstract fatherhood.

It is the Child’s cry out of a nightmare.

It is the cry of outrage,


shrinking away,

when faced with the horrorof the ‘world ’  –

yet not simply or exclusively protest,

but trust as well.

‘Abba Father’

all things are possible to Thee.


A Prayer

You are rearranging the furniture in my soul.

Of course, I gave you the key to let Yourself in

whenever You wanted,

but I can’t get over coming home and

seeing everything shifted.

Some of my favorite things are gone,

some of the things I used to cling to for security.

I still go looking and grow angry to find them gone.

I miss the complacency, the mediocrity,

the stagnation, but I relish the abandon more.

Your Presence leaves a warmth in the room.

It fills me more fully than all the clutter

which used to linger within.

With a lot of the garbage gone, I can seek you out.

I can rest in the present, in the Presence,

in calm, in tranquility, undisturbed, except by

what you choose for me.

I wait for You to come.

I never thought waiting for the Moving Man could be so right.

Author:  Karen Pilman