Tag Archives: yoga

The Yoking (A Prayer for Unity, Christian and Otherwise)

Standard

We are caught inside this swath of love
this massive yoking
where we love one and are all-loving,
this massive yoking
where we love all and are love’s focusing.
Christ’s mystery and enigma,
this yoking love, this kingdom becoming.

But in moments beneath love’s canopy
when rain falls for the thirsty and light shines for the hungry,
ice cracks brutal over the cold and heat scorches dry over the brittle.
So we walk under blue skies and dark ceilings,
through fresh breezes and dusty drafts.
We know the burdening yoke and its blessings,
the rough harness and its relief.

These are our joys and challenges,
the balance of a life,
the yoga of loving.

Oh, that we would have eyes to see and ears to hear,
hearts to love and hearts to be loved,
for in you all things are light.

Amen, amen.

Inspired by Pope Francis and Fr. Beaver’s calls for Christian unity, and by Jason Gray’s “With Every Act of Love.”

 

Christ in Love; Christ in All Things

Standard

“Through [Christ]…let us continually offer God a sacrifice of praise, that is, the fruit of lips that confess his name.  Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have; God is pleased by sacrifices of that kind.”  ~Hebrews 13: 15-16

My babies have been scooting

little cars and trucks over the furniture,

have been twirling themselves over the soft fuzz of carpet in the living room;

I sit at the top of my mat giving thanks and praise to God

for my life, family, prayer, and practice;

I cross myself in the name of our triune God,

hop to my feet, fold and roll my mat, and

my babies run, skip, and giggle toward me

holding out the purple velcro strap they know

I use at the very end.

 

My babies snuggle down to the bottom edge of their pillow,

pull the blankets to the bottom edge of their ear

and wait in their bed for a kiss.

I bend, lean, and reach over

tracing the cross on their forehead,

“God bless you, for ever and ever and always,” I whisper.

They pull my face close, small hands on my cheeks,

“God bless you, for ever and ever and always,” they whisper

in soft, tired voices.  They reach out their arms

for the hug they know comes at the very end.