Ceasefire

Ceasefire
Pentecost 3; Luke 9:51-62
He had no truck with hatred’s tit-for-tat.
His face was set towards Jerusalem:
Samaritans rejected him for that.
The brothers wanted fire called down on them.
They’d answer coldness with destructive heat,
but he rebuked them, simply went elsewhere,
no honour lost, no shame for humble feet.
Forget reprisals, his main goal was care.
If only human history had learned,
but fire so often fell from vengeful skies,
and treasures of the ages then lay burned,
and escalating fire to fire replies.
He showed the way to peace the world must seek:
he loved his enemies and turned his cheek.
	Barbara Messner 21/06/2022

In the Land Opposite Galilee

In the Land Opposite Galilee
Pentecost 2; Luke 8: 26-39
He’d break his bonds and flee into the wild –
a city man by unclean powers possessed,
in lands the Roman legions occupied.
The spirits said that “Legion” was their name.
When demon-driven pigs fell in the lake,
was that a portent of defeat of arms?
If we could exorcize the power of guns,
would fewer people die when violence harms?

Should faith be exiled from affairs of state,
or is it side-lined by our arrogance?
The games that rival politicians play
are tuned to profit, privilege and pride –
dominions Jesus died to set aside.
Can we speak out to sweep our unclean rooms,
and exorcize the madness of our day
that leaves us chained and naked among tombs?

Some say the Spirit transformed Roman rape
to birth upon the earth the Son of God.
Empire and temple certainly conspired
to nail upon the cross the Son of Man,
but soldiers guarding could not keep the stone
upon a tomb now empty to the light.
When Saul set out to use self-righteous force,
he found himself upended, without sight.

The people who had owned the herd of pigs
told Jesus to depart and let them be.
He sent the man who now was clothed and sane
to tell the truth of how he was set free.
The power to speak and hear at Pentecost
was felt by those who came from many lands.
Do we share eloquence to name and cleanse?
Can Wisdom’s words inspire restoring hands?
	Barbara Messner 17/06/2022

Another Way of Seeing

Another Way of Seeing
Trinity Sunday
I slip my glasses off and free my eyes
to sense the stirring touch of wind and sun.
These lenses can’t expand what this mind sees
when all I look at is the ground ahead.
I walk the dog through landscape widely spread,
but peer instead at ruts and heavy ground
where circling thoughts are plodding unaware.

I slip my glasses off and lift my eyes:
my gaze turns outward to a world grown blurred,
the edges softened and the shapes more strange.
Expected outlines shift before my eyes.
Here certainties dissolve and sight is drawn
to blends of colour and the wash of light. 

The world is made like this with layered veils,
and stories patched like quilts, ambiguous 
to naked eyes, and yet perhaps the lens 
we look through tames awareness to plain sight.
We miss the warp of chaos, interlaced
in patterns underpinned and edged with grace.

See how the Spirit broods upon the waters,
bringing form from chaos, and the Word
says: “Let there be” and so there is, and three
in one Creator God will see and show
that it is good. So in this image made, 
we co-create. Let water and the word 
inform our mind and sight. Let dust take shape!
Let words and spit and tears be mixed like mud,
while wind we cannot see, but gladly sense 
will mould the clay and challenge it to be,
and wake our eyes to life with healing touch.

Then I’ll see trees, like people, move in time
to music still beyond the reach of ears.
Speak to the dust of which my flesh is made.
With word and touch make something more than clay.
Let reshaped ears discern beyond what’s heard,
and vision take in more of depth and height,
the sight revealed by wisdom and the light.
Barbara Messner c 2012

Experiencing Pentecost in the Present

Experiencing Pentecost in the Present
Day of Pentecost; Acts 2:1-21
If someone from outside comes into church,
(infrequent in these days, but still we hope),
they’ll see us dressed in red for Pentecost.
There might be red balloons, or paper doves,
or something sung in Spanish, French or Greek.
How might the stranger feel the Spirit power?
It is as if a spiral on a page
were shown to represent tornado’s blast.

Can we dare pray to sense a violent wind
disturbing us to move beyond our walls?
What if the Spirit embers, burning low,
sprang up and set our hearts and eyes ablaze,
so we could share with tongues set free by love
how we have walked with Christ, been Spirit led,
have risen from our anguished prayer released,
or felt a wonder lift us beyond self.

Then we would tell in words that resonate
of service to compassion, justice, earth,
of times when we have walked with one in pain,
or someone listened while we searched the dark.
We’d hear of timely insight that transformed
when someone speaks or writes what must be said.
We’d share our sense of calling, or of awe,
and hear how lives were healed and land restored.

I wonder then if someone from outside
might sense the Spirit moving in our midst,
experience the truth of what we live
as we share wisdom and our honest search.
I wonder if we’d be inspired to change,
embracing difference, listening for its truth.
The Word of God might speak in us afresh,
and Christ be recognized in who we are.
	Barbara Messner 30/05/2022

Communion

Communion
Easter 7; John 17:20-26
I drove to church along the ridge of hills.
The valley spread out arms to greet the town;
the distant sea rose up to meet the sky;
the curve of earth reversed to form a bowl
in which light poured and colour overflowed.
There I was drenched in brightness, lit within.

But then, as corners turned, the bush prevailed,
pale glowing trunks, striped shadows on the road.
The leaves that danced seemed hand in hand with sky;
they juggled light and married it with shade.
I wished that I could stop and walk alone,
or with First Nations’ guides who know the ways
of bush and birds and creatures, and the tales
that show how Spirit impregnates the land.

The church upon the ridge reveals that truth,
with valley views and presences of trees,
fresh songs and paintings, and the altar graced
by grey and silver patterning of leaves,
a healing vision of indigenous art.

Now at the altar we, with outstretched hands,
commune with presence, Christ in bread and wine, 
and Spirit in the artist’s healing leaves,
in sea and sky, in bush and birds in flight.
Creator in creation, Christ in us,
connect in mutual love that makes us one.
Embracing difference, shadows dance with light,
and matter mates with Spirit to be whole.
	Barbara Messner 26/05/2022

The Mystery of the Ascension

The Mystery of the Ascension
Ascension Day: Acts 1:1-11, Luke 24:44-53
There on the mountain top they find him gone –
gone up, gone out, drawn in beyond our sight.
Some doubt, some worship, hide and wait, move on;
some wish to stay forever on the height.

Was incarnation nothing but a play?
Is God restored to God’s transcendent state
where human flesh no longer has a say?
Some judge God dead or tardy as they wait.

Is God now absent, or so deep within
our world, that we can live Christ’s way?
Are we abandoned, or made more akin?
Do we become Christ’s body in our day?

No techno-marvel, nor a magic wand,
transported Jesus to some other place:
whatever happened draws this world beyond
the bounds of finite life and time and space.

How limited our skies and straining eyes!
We peer beyond this day and night of earth;
beyond the cloud we guess at God’s surprise:
Christ’s Second Coming, New Creation’s birth.
	Barbara Messner (2005?)

Remembered Words

Remembered Words
Easter 6; John 14:23-29
I wonder, if I saw the end in sight,
what words of comfort, stretching like a rope
across the threat of absence, would hold tight
the truth that helps us walk the slippery slope?
At that Last Supper, Jesus knew the plight
that day would bring. He tried to offer hope,
reminding them that God is love and light,
and if they love each other they will cope.
Did they remember that on bad Friday?
He promised peace, his peace that calms the heart,
and said the Spirit, guide to show the way,
would come to them, although he must depart.
I wonder in their overwhelming grief
if those remembered words brought them relief?
	 Barbara Messner 16/05/2022

Paradox

Paradox
Easter 5; John 13:31-35
When Judas left and walked into the night,
and Jesus knew that he would be denied,
betrayed, abandoned to his plight,
he said that he and God were glorified.
It seems a paradox to human eyes
that glory is revealed in pain and death,
but this is the transformative surprise
of new creation, shaped by Spirit breath.
He spoke of love to friends about to fail:
“Love one another as I love you all.”
His love will bear the shock of driven nail,
and theirs the grief of loss and shame of fall.
He died with arms stretched wide in love’s embrace,
breathed out in his last breath God’s gift of grace.
	Barbara Messner 11/05/2022

Season Break

Season Break
One day, windy in mid-autumn,
the bush was wild in flail of fall.
Dead leaves sacrificed to drought
skittered and whirled across the road,
and hills were blurred with dust and smoke.
I felt the threat and promise of change
in ragged clouds and restless wind.

Old farmers here say season break
comes after Anzac Day, memorial
to the cost and tragedy of war.
This time we know new floods of tears
and anger flow for the Ukraine,
as brutal power, immune to human pain,
is causing blood to soak the earth again.

The workers may have paused for Easter break,
but did they recognize Christ’s pain and promise,
or look for signs of fresh growth after storms,
as green shoots rise among the littered leaves?
Here farmers sowed in hopes of inundation,
and we have sung the songs of resurrection.
O let the Spirit come and shake the walls,
and lend us tongues of fire to stir the nations.
	Barbara Messner 7/05/2022

Tell Us Plainly

Tell us Plainly
Easter 4; John 10:22-30
There’s some who want a label, clearly stated,
so they can judge and file this case away.
The evidence of deeds is under rated,
and mystery ignored on every day.
If Jesus said, “For sure, I’m God’s Messiah!”
they’d call it blasphemy and want him dead,
dismiss him as deluded or a liar,
and heap their scorn upon his thorn-bound head.
For Word made flesh, we have selective hearing:
we know him if we recognize his voice,
but how, amidst the doom-sayers we’re fearing,
can people tune their ears to make that choice?
Believing grows with willingness to follow,
for truth is pilgrimage and facts are hollow.
	Barbara Messner 4/05/2022