The real studio
is not a shed,
an artist's easel.
The real studio
is the heart
—knowingly or not—
interplay and dance with the divine mystery
Last night, I wrote a psalm of lament and hope
within my studio.
I offer it this day.
It may be 'a little long',
but that is the nature of lament
and the offering of hope.
With love and compassion,
My soul is so sick of the world
and all who are in it
those who plot and do evil
those who dress in pearls
and convey all is perfect.
What is lost in both is the ability
And to say
all is not well with my soul,
no longer do I need to put up a front,
no longer do I need to care for myself,
no longer do I need to be strong.
People are dying but not from
lack of food.
People are dying from depravity of soul.
Be afraid of the one that can feed both the soul and the world.
but not fear, LORD, as in neurotic craziness,
but fear because of your greatness.
Who are we?
Who am I?
To stand in your presence
or to be a part of your goodness.
Only You can water a heart.
No one else—
for only you have created it and dance in it mysteriously with your very creature,
your very creature whom you’ve created to love you.
To love you—because the gift of Love naturally begets love, just as Gentleness, Patience, Kindness, and Forgiveness do.
It is like a flower grown from the sun and as it grows, it turns towards the sun.
Our relationship with You is like that—a full circle of blessing—
You give to us and we return to You—
O LORD, forgive us for forgetting
You, for turning to false gods and idols of our own creations—
confusing the might of the blue or statues for your Mightiness
and misplacing our trust in politicians
rather than in the God of polemics—
as in the god who goes against
the empire freeing his people
from its captivity of numbness
and bondage of denial and fear.
Forgive us for being blind:
not seeing the effects and
direct links of the religion of triumphalism
to the oppression of people.
- For our social causes without deeper embedded frameworks
that speak of your Social Cause—healing humanity from the rifts of her heart
because Christ reconciles all things to themselves and to himself and to each other.
Whoever has a willing heart,
this will happen.
My own heart knows this to be true.
- For the religion of You being distilled and flattened into lies, tactics, and a mechanistic understanding slithered into slogans that warn of the end of times while being blind to their very own end of times, with no image of you to offer.
Out of this you brought my own heart, and it knows your fullness, your flora, your hope.
Forgive us for our ignorance of our own choosing and the woundedness that blinds and binds.
Forgive us and in your great compassion, please have mercy
on us who open
our hearts to say
we need you
we need You
the known one:
the one who Is,
who renews us
with your essence of breath and life.
The one who came
in flesh, skin, bones, and blood
to usher in a new reality
that breaks the bonds
of ignorance—of death—
and opens our heart
to that new reality of existence—that before we could not see—
from the fulfillment of ancient Israel’s prophecies—
opening the door to the world,
all of the world—
choosing to start somewhere,
for one seed has to be chosen and planted
like a farmer does.
You planted that seed—not a seed that is everything at once.
From that seed grew a plant that produced the seed that
would finally produce food for all the weary and encompass all because you created all.
For anyone who has the humility or courage to come and eat,
this invitation stands: an offering to be renewed into her own plant,
slowly cultivating a new being and partaking in bringing about a new humanity— a new garden of eden.
Where your hand tends us
watches over us,
sustaining us as we weather life,
knowing that we only truly grow by being with you in tragedy,
feeling your warmth warming our hearts with your presence,
giving us strength,
nursing us with your Love—
of deep acceptance of reality
and radical compassion
because we know the Light in which we collapse in and live from
because our own darkness is no more.