Saturday, February 18, 2017

Fifteen

Lord of rising sun and gentle rain,
whose gifts are uncounted
whose care is uncaged:
free us from measured love
which keeps a record of wrong
and fails before our violence;
take us outside the limits
where we speak only with those
who reflect ourselves;
recall us to your image
shining and alive
in many-coloured eyes;
through Jesus Christ, the peacemaker. Amen


We are but a step from Lent, step and a Sunday. Jumping the gun as always, last evening and today St. Andrews is celebrating Mardi Gras, three blocks each of Bayview Avenue and Beck Avenue closed off for the festivities, view it all from our Beck side. Bay side is dark and drizzly, chilly rainy but I am having breakfast on 7H porch. Annual bead tossing parade at two o’clock this afternoon. We have family, Joe, TJCC, RayBritLil for breakfast &c. M&K invited. Rain, rain, go away, Come again next Wed-nes-day.

First thing I see opening my lectionary site this morning, ad for a stations of the cross coloring book, black and white, colorless as the ashes we begin with, first station grounding the bitterness of the wilderness ahead: sorrow



Life goes up and down and down and up and sideways, doesn’t it. As for me, mia terra, I am at the top best place in the universe for myself at this station, but have been there done that for much that life has to giveth and to taketh away. 



Among many and various other things, Lent is season for contemplating that life always doesn’t turn out as we want and hope on our schedule and agenda. Some hopes and dreams never happen, some come along in kairos instead of chronos, some come on Time, some on Time are terrible disappointments, some are all we ever dreamed of. But it’s all stations, the Way of the Cross. Today it looks like rain on my parade, but tomorrow may clear. Wait and see. If your stations only go to fourteen, mine always go to fifteen. Wait and see. Wait, hope, see.





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