Author Archive

Lent 5: Learning the Lazarus Blessing

April 3, 2011

Image: Lazarus Blessing © Jan Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Lent 5: John 11.1-45

He cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”
—John 11.43

I wonder if it gave him pause. I wonder if Lazarus, stirring in his four-day tomb and beginning to feel the grave clothes weighing on his waking skin, had to take a moment to consider. When he heard that cry from beyond the threshold of his tomb; when he awoke to that voice, beloved but already growing strange to ears that had begun to settle into the silence; when that command came and challenged the dead calm of the grave, did Lazarus give a thought to staying put? It cannot have been easy, feeling the pulse of life tickle at the flesh already loosening from his limbs. Was he tempted to simply roll over and turn his face toward the wall so that he could continue his slide into decay?

Nobody goes into the tomb to pull Lazarus out; no one crosses into his realm to haul him to this side of living. Lazarus has to choose whether he will loose himself from the hold of the grave: its hold on him, his hold on it.

Only when Lazarus takes a deep and deciding breath, rises, returns back across the boundary between the living and the dead: only then does Jesus say to the crowd, “Unbind him, and let him go.” Not until Lazarus makes his choice does the unwinding of the shroud begin, and the grave clothes fall away.

I have written about this passage—a favorite of mine—on other occasions and invite you to visit Lent 5: Unbinding Words and Unbinding Words: Part 2. As we move deeper into the Lenten path, what might you need to let go of, to loose yourself from, so that you can move with freedom into the life to which Christ calls you?

Here is a blessing for your journey ahead. Peace to you in your waking, rising, living days.

Lazarus Blessing

The secret
of this blessing
is that it is written
on the back
of what binds you.

To read
this blessing,
you must take hold
of the end
of what
confines you,
must begin to tug
at the edge
of what wraps
you round.

It may take long
and long
for its length
to fall away,
for the words
of this blessing
to unwind
in folds
about your feet.

By then
you will no longer
need them.

By then this blessing
will have pressed itself
into your waking flesh,
will have passed
into your bones,
will have traveled
every vein

until it comes to rest
inside the chambers
of your heart
that beats to
the rhythm
of benediction

and the cadence
of release.

—Jan Richardson

Update: “Lazarus Blessing” appears in Jan’s new book Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons.

Bonus round: For a song that will bless your ears and your soul, click the player below to hear the wondrous “Rise Up” by my husband, Garrison Doles. It’s from his CD House of Prayer.

[To use the “Lazarus Blessing” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Resources for the season: Looking toward Lent

And blogging daily at Sanctuary of Women during Lent…

Listening at the Cross

March 31, 2011

One of the things I love about having Garrison Doles in my life is getting to collaborate with him in a variety of venues, from retreats to worship to workshops and beyond. I’m delighted to announce our latest collaboration, this time in the digital realm. We have just released a new video titled Listening at the Cross: The Seven Last Words of Christ, which intertwines my artwork and Gary’s music.

The images in the video come from the series I created for the book Listening at Golgotha, Peter Storey’s series of reflections on Christ’s words from the cross. Peter is a friend whose ministry has included serving as the bishop of the Methodist Church of Southern Africa and as the chaplain to Nelson Mandela during his years in prison. As one might imagine, this pastor who spent much of his ministry engaged in the struggle against apartheid has some distinctive insights into the crucifixion of Christ—as well as his resurrection.

Gary’s haunting song “This Crown of Thorns,” from his CD Draw Us Closer, accompanies the images. As always, working with his words and music draws me deeper into my own creative work, and it is a delight to offer you this marriage of song and image in this Lenten season. We pray that in these days, Listening at the Cross will invite you into an evocative space of quiet and contemplation as we journey with Christ not only to the cross but also to what lies beyond it.

In addition to launching the video on YouTube, we are also releasing it at the very cool Vimeo site, where you can view it here. To share the video in worship and related settings, you can find a high-resolution version by visiting Listening at the Cross on the Jan Richardson Images website. As always, using the Jan Richardson Images site helps make possible the ministry that I offer at The Painted Prayerbook and beyond. And downloading the video will support Gary’s ministry as well!

Know that we are grateful to be on the path with you, and we wish you many blessings in these Lenten days.

Lent 4: A Tender and Grimy Grace

March 28, 2011


A Tender and Grimy Grace © Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Lent 4 (April 3): John 9.1-41

The season of Lent invites us to get up close to the things of the earth. Ash, wilderness, water, dirt, mud: these days impress upon us what an elemental fellow Jesus was. Throughout his ministry we see him touching the world around him, employing the things of earth to reveal the things of heaven.

In this week’s Gospel lection we see Jesus use earthly elements as he brings sight to a man who is blind. His acts of healing, of teaching, of preaching, of praying do not come from thin air: Jesus grounds these acts in, well, the ground. Although the Christian tradition, as it developed, would make sharp distinctions between matter and spirit, Jesus seems less inclined to do so.

I have dug into this muddy text previously and welcome you to take a look at Lent 4: Here’s Mud in Your Eye. In this Lenten week, how are you seeing? Is there anything you need to clear from your field of vision so that you can see more clearly? How grounded are you these days? Where do you perceive the presence of Christ in elemental, earthy things?

Here’s a blessing for this stretch of your Lenten path. Peace to you in this season.

Blessing of Mud

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the dirt.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the earth
beneath our feet.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the dust

like the dust
that God scooped up
at the beginning
and formed
with God’s
two hands
and breathed into
with God’s own
breath.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the spit.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the mud.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the mire,
the grime,
the muck.

Lest we think
that God
cannot reach
deep into the things
of earth,
cannot bring forth
the blessing
that shimmers
within the sludge,
cannot anoint us
with a tender
and grimy grace.

Lest we think
that God
will not use the ground
to create us
once again,
to cleanse us
of our unseeing,
to open our eyes upon
this ordinary
and stunning world.

[To use the “A Tender and Grimy Grace” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Resources for the season: Looking toward Lent

Blogging also at Sanctuary of Women during Lent…

Lent 3: A Well-Blessed Woman

March 23, 2011


Well Blessed © Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Lent 3 (March 27): John 4.5-42

With this week’s Gospel passage, the lectionary continues to trace a watery way through the wilderness of Lent, calling us to be mindful of God’s provision even in the desert places. This text fairly drenches us as it draws us into the story of the Samaritan woman who meets Jesus while making her daily visit to the well—Jacob’s well, as both the narrator and the woman point out; the well established by a man who knew about meeting God in the midst of one’s journey.

The encounter between Jesus and the unnamed woman offers something of an icon of the Lenten season and the invitation it extends to us. If we give ourselves to a daily practice, if we keep taking our vessel to the source even when we feel uninspired or the well seems empty or the journey is boring, if we walk with an openness to what might be waiting for us in the repetition and rhythm of our routines, we may suddenly find ourselves swimming in the grace and love of God that goes deeper than we ever imagined.

In his Gospel, John did not record the name of this woman who became the first evangelist. The Eastern Orthodox tradition, however, filled in that gap, naming her Photini or Photina (meaning “the enlightened one” or “resplendent”) and also designating her an apostle and a saint. For more about Saint Photini, visit Suzanne Guthrie’s reflection “The Well of Love” at her lovely blog Come to the Garden.

I have lingered at the well with the Samaritan woman and Jesus on another occasion and invite you to stop by Lent 3: The Way of Water for that reflection. As you travel through this season, what are you finding in the midst of your daily rhythms and routines? Are your habits and practices drawing you closer to the sustenance you need or pulling you farther away from it? What are you thirsty for?

As you continue on your Lenten way, here is a new blessing for the next leg of your journey. Peace to you.

Blessing of the Well

If you stand
at the edge
of this blessing
and call down
into it,
you will hear
your words
return to you.

If you lean in
and listen close,
you will hear
this blessing
give the story
of your life
back to you.

Quiet your voice
quiet your judgment
quiet the way
you always tell
your story
to yourself.

Quiet all these
and you will hear
the whole of it
and the hollows of it:
the spaces
in the telling,
the gaps
where you hesitate
to go.

Sit at the rim
of this blessing.
Press your ear
to its lip,
its sides,
its curves
that were carved out
long ago
by those whose thirst
drove them deep,
those who dug
into the layers
with only their hands
and hope.

Rest yourself
beside this blessing
and you will
begin to hear
the sound of water
entering the gaps.

Still yourself
and you will feel it
rising up within you,
filling every hollow,
springing forth
anew.

[To use the “Well Blessed” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Resources for the season: Looking toward Lent

Blogging also at Sanctuary of Women during Lent…

Lent 2: Born of Water, Born of Spirit

March 17, 2011


Born of Water, Born of Spirit © Jan L. Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Lent 2 (March 20): John 3.1-17

Very sorry to be posting late in the week. I am easily distracted by shiny objects, and one came in the form of an enticing project that consumed the first part of my week. More on that in another post. Amidst it all, I have had Nicodemus and his nighttime visit with Jesus much on my mind.

We are just barely into Lent, a season suffused with wilderness and desert. Yet with its imagery of water and of Spirit, this Sunday’s Gospel lection brings us a welcome reminder that God provides sustenance to us in every season.

This text from John’s Gospel invites us to eavesdrop on the visit that Nicodemus pays to Jesus shortly after Jesus clears out the temple. The fact that Jesus and Nicodemus have their conversation at night seems fitting not just because the darkness offers a measure of protection and secrecy for Nicodemus, away from the eyes of his fellow Pharisees, but because Jesus speaks here of a mystery. In response to the question that Nicodemus asks about being born anew, Jesus does not really provide a clear explanation. Yet in his words about water and Spirit, about birthing and love, Jesus offers something better than an explanation: he extends to Nicodemus, and to us, an invitation to a relationship and to a journey of transformation.

I have contemplated this nighttime passage a couple of times previously, at Lent 2: In Which We Get Goosed and Lent 4: The Serpent in the Text, and invite you to visit those reflections. I don’t have many new words to say about this text, but I did get into the studio this week to create a collage and was glad for the ways the text drew me in some new directions into the story and into my art.

I want also to wish you a blessed Saint Patrick’s Day! I have written previously about this beloved saint at Feast of Saint Patrick and invite you to stop by and especially to click on the audio player near the end of that reflection; “Patrick on the Water” is a marvelous song that my husband, Garrison Doles, wrote for a Wellspring service that we did in celebration of St. Patrick.

Speaking of Garrison, his most recent CD also includes a song inspired by this week’s Gospel. Click the player below to hear “O Nicodemus” from his CD House of Prayer:

This week offers many reminders of God’s provision and love. And so, by water and Spirit born and blessed, may you be a living sign of that love, and a blessing to those whose path you cross.

[To use the “Born of Water, Born of Spirit” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Resources for the season: Looking toward Lent

And blogging daily at Sanctuary of Women during Lent…

Lent 1: A Blessing for the Wilderness

March 10, 2011

Wilderness and WingsImage: Wilderness and Wings © Jan Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Lent 1 (March 13): Matthew 4.1-11

The first time they met, they were in the waters of their mothers’ wombs. On that day, John had leaped with joy at the presence of his cousin Jesus. Now the kinsmen stand together by other waters. On this day that they meet at the Jordan, they see each other with different eyes. There is a deeper knowing in their gaze, and in their recognition of each other a joy perhaps no less keen than at the first but with a wiser edge. Here at the river, John and Jesus have lived out nearly their entire lives. Yet there is still much to do; everything to do.

And so, grudgingly at first, but then with understanding, John the Baptist plunges Jesus beneath the surface. This, at least, he can do for his cousin, can help prepare him for the way that lies ahead of him. John speaks the words of blessing and initiation, raises Jesus dripping from the depths, hears the voice that proclaims from heaven, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

And then the kinsmen go their separate ways. Where we might expect the freshly baptized Jesus to begin his public ministry, there is instead a curious sort of inversion that takes place: Jesus goes into the wilderness, the landscape that had long been home to his locust-and-honey-eating cousin. There is something he needs there, a way that yet must be prepared within him.

Here at the outset of Lent, what can you see of the landscape that lies ahead of you? Might there be another place you need to go, physically or in your soul, before you are ready to enter the landscape that calls you? Is there a space—a season, a terrain, a ritual—of preparation that you need; a place where you can find clarity, and perhaps a ministering angel or two? What might this look like?

Wilderness Blessing

Let us say
this blessing began
whole and complete
upon the page.

And then let us say
that one word loosed itself
and another followed it
in turn.

Let us say
this blessing started
to shed all
it did not need,

that line by line
it returned
to the ground
from which it came.

Let us say
this blessing is not
leaving you,
is not abandoning you
to the wild
that lies ahead,

but that it is loathe
to load you down
on this road where
you will need
to travel light.

Let us say
perhaps this blessing
became the path
beneath your feet,
the desert
that stretched before you,
the clear sight
that finally came.

Let us say
that when this blessing
at last came to its end,
all it left behind
was bread,
wine,
a fleeting flash
of wing.

—Jan Richardson

2016 update: “Wilderness Blessing” appears in my new book Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons. You can find the book here.

P.S. For previous reflections on Lent 1, please see Lent 1: Discernment and Dessert in the Desert, Lent 1: A River Runs through Him, and Lent 1: Into the Wilderness.

You are welcome to use “Wilderness Blessing” in worship. Thanks for including a brief credit line with this info: © Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com

[To use the image “Wilderness and Wings,” please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

Resources for the season: Looking toward Lent

Blogging also at Sanctuary of Women during Lent…

The Memory of Ashes

March 6, 2011

Image: Ash Wednesday © Jan Richardson

Readings for Ash Wednesday: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17; Psalm 51:1-17;
2 Corinthians 5:20b – 6:10
; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

All week the scent of orange blossoms has been coming through the bedroom window. The smell is rooted deep in my memory; I come from generations of citrus growers. I think that even if I had grown up far from the groves whose fragrance infused my childhood, something ancestral in my blood would stir at the scent that has been attending these past days.

Earlier in the week, the scent of orange blossoms was tinged with smoke. There’s a fire blazing to the north of us. It’s just one of more than 60 active wildfires burning around our parched state, but it’s a doozy: about 25 miles north of the Kennedy Space Center, it has scorched around 17,000 acres of land. They’re calling it the Iron Horse Fire, so dubbed by a supervisor at the Florida Division of Forestry who named it after a bar in Ormond Beach that’s especially popular during Bike Week. “The fire is not near the bar,” the Division of Forestry’s website emphasizes. “It is much farther south, but the supervisor figured he would be at the fire instead of the Bike Week events, which started Friday.”

Here on the threshold of Lent, the scent of blossom and blazing offers a vivid point of entry into the coming season; a sort of olfactory invocation for the days ahead. More than any other season of  the liturgical year, Lent draws us into a landscape that is distinctive for the ways that it intertwines extremes and calls our attention to how brokenness and beauty, horror and hope dwell intimately together. We will see this exemplified in next Sunday’s gospel reading, which takes Jesus—and us—into a stark wilderness where Satan comes to visit, but where angels do, too.

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of this bittersweet season. Ashes are the first sign and symbol of Lent, but they are not the final word. Come Wednesday, we will bear this mark of what has been left behind from the burning, this reminder of the dust and earth from which we rise and to which we will return. Yet even the ash—which in many churches comes from burning the Palm Sunday branches of the previous year—has a memory of its own. Deep within its darkness and dust lies the imprint of green, the memory of life, the awareness of what has gone before and of what may yet be.

Ash Wednesday propels us into a season that inspires us to learn once again that what God creates and graces and blesses may be beset and broken but not destroyed. Life finds its way: ancient memory takes hold, follows the path of the ash, inscribes itself anew, beauty blazing from the wreck and ruin. “We are treated…as dying,” Paul writes in the Ash Wednesday reading from the Epistles, “and see—we are alive; as punished and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything.”

And you: here on the threshold of Lent, amid the ashes, what do you possess? As we enter this season that pares our lives down to what is absolutely essential and basic and elemental, what do you hold as most important? Is there anything you need to allow to become ash, that it may be transformed into something new? Beneath what seems dying or destroyed, what life might yet take hold?

Blessing for Ash Wednesday

So let the ashes come
as beginning
and not as end;
the first sign
but not the final.
Let them rest upon you
as invocation and invitation,
and let them take you
the way that ashes know
to go.

May they mark you
with the memory of fire
and of the life
that came before the burning:
the life that rises and returns
and finds its way again.

See what shimmers
amid their darkness,
what endures
within their dust.
See how they draw us
toward the mystery
that will consume
but not destroy,
that will blossom
from the blazing,
that will scorch us
with its joy.

—Jan Richardson

[For previous reflections on Ash Wednesday, please see Upon the Ashes, The Artful Ashes and Ash Wednesday, Almost. To use the “Ash Wednesday” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

P.S. I’m posting regular reflections over at my Sanctuary of Women blog during Lent and would be delighted to have your company there as well!

Resources for the season: Looking toward Lent

Looking toward Lent

March 5, 2011

The Blessing Cups: Jesus and Mary Magdalene at TeaImage: The Blessing Cups: Mary Magdalene and Jesus at Tea
© Jan Richardson

With Ash Wednesday approaching, it’s time for a little Lenten housekeeping here at The Painted Prayerbook, as has become our custom at this point in the year. As we move into the coming season, I want to let you know about a few offerings that I have available—books, artwork, and other resources that I’ve created to draw you more deeply into the coming days. So have a cup of tea and sit for a spell while I share what’s been stirring in the studio…

A LITERARY LENT: It has been wonderful to hear from folks—men as well as women—who are reading my latest book, In the Sanctuary of Women. Many of them are reading it together in groups, including some who are using it as a way to stay connected across the distance by phone or online. Whether you read it alone or with others, the book offers a space for contemplation and conversation in the company of women from around the world and across the centuries. To order, click In the Sanctuary of Women or the cover below. And I’d be delighted to you have your company over at my Sanctuary of Women blog, where I’ll be posting frequently during Lent.

Published through my small press, Garden of Hollows: Entering the Mysteries of Lent & Easter offers artwork and reflections on the sacred texts and themes of the coming season. To order, visit Wanton Gospeller Press or click the cover below.

I am delighted to share the news that my book Night Visions: Searching the Shadows of Advent and Christmas has recently come back into print. With original artwork, reflections, poetry, and prayers, Night Visions is a companion for the journey from the beginning of Advent to the Feast of the Epiphany. Readers have told me that it works well during Lent, too! To order, visit Books or click the cover.

Be sure to check out the sidebar to the right for more books and other resources that provide good company for the season.

IMAGES ONLINE: Jan Richardson Images is a website that makes all my artwork easily accessible for use in worship, education, and related settings. You’ll find lots of images for Lent and Easter as well as the rest of the year. In addition to individual downloads, we offer an annual subscription that provides unlimited access to images (within the guidelines for use) for a year.

ART PRINTS: The Art Prints pages on my main website offer a variety of prints for Lent and Easter, including the images from Garden of Hollows. You can also order prints at Jan Richardson Images (which includes all the artwork I’ve created for The Painted Prayerbook); go to any image and click “Prints & Products.”

eNEWSLETTER: I periodically send out an e-newsletter, often in connection with the liturgical year. It includes a seasonal reflection, artwork, information about current offerings and upcoming events, and whatever else strikes my creative fancy. I would be pleased to include you in my mailing list and to stay connected with you in this way. You can sign up for the list here.

GRATITUDE: Many kind thanks for visiting The Painted Prayerbook and for the companionship you provide along the path. Your comments, emails, prayers, and presence are gifts for the journey and manna on my way. Know that you are present in my prayers. I wish you a blessed Lent.

Transfiguration Sunday: There and Back Again

February 28, 2011


Jan + Garrison in Iowa

Reading from the Gospels, Transfiguration Sunday, Year A (March 6): Matthew 17.1-9

Gary and I are settling back in after being away recently for a wonderful trip to the Midwest. We seem to be establishing a tradition of leaving Florida in February for colder climes; last year we were in Minnesota in February, and this year it was Iowa, where the temperature actually climbed into the low 60s while we were there! By the time we left, all the snow that you see in this picture had pretty well melted. We were the guests of Iowa Wesleyan College, where I served as this year’s speaker for the Manning Lecture Series and as artist-in-residence for the week. Gary (who also did some concerts around Iowa) and I collaborated on some of the events and greatly enjoyed the time we spent with students, faculty, clergy, and folks from the surrounding community. In the studio, the chapel, the classroom, and the table, we received tremendous hospitality and are grateful to everyone who offered us such a warm welcome.

Our trip capped a great but intense stretch of speaking engagements, which accounts for my absence from The Painted Prayerbook in recent weeks. I have missed you! I am glad for the chance to take some Sabbath time as I settle back in, and am also eager to dive into some creative work that I’ve been itching to get to. I’ll be cooking up some new artwork and reflections here for Lent and look forward to sharing the coming season with you.

As I reenter my life here, absorbing and reflecting on what I received in Iowa,  it seems fitting that this Sunday is the Feast of the Transfiguration. The disciples who went up the mountain with Jesus and down again had to do in a dramatic way what each of us is called to do in our daily lives: to be drawn to those places where we see and know Christ with greater clarity—the mountain, the Midwest—and then to return to the rhythm of our lives, absorbing what we have seen and allowing it to infuse how we perceive and enter into our ordinary days.

As we approach Transfiguration Sunday, how are you navigating that journey in your own life? Where are you letting Christ draw you, that you may glimpse him more clearly? How does this change the way you move through your daily life? Are you open to how Christ might yet surprise and stun you with his appearing?

I have a couple of previous reflections on the Transfiguration and invite you to visit them while I hunker down in my studio and prepare for the coming season. You can click on the images or the titles below to find your way.

In this week, may Christ our Light illumine and transform your daily path. Blessings.

Transfiguration: Back to the Drawing Board

Transfiguration Sunday: Show and (Don’t) Tell

Epiphany 5: Blessing of Salt, Blessing of Light

January 30, 2011


Blessing of Salt, Blessing of Light © Jan Richardson

Reading from the Gospels, Epiphany 5, Year A (February 6): Matthew 5.13-20

I cannot tell you what this week’s collage means—that’s not my job, not the job of any artist, as if we could know or say all that a piece of art might mean; as if meaning were even the main thing. I can tell you, though, that some while after I finished it, I found myself thinking of the word offering. And this is part of what the gospel text this week calls us to: to discern what God has created us to offer in this world, and to give that; to be salt that will provide savor, to be light through which the presence of God is known.

Epiphany—a word which itself means appearing or showing forth—is a season that beckons us to ponder what it is that God desires to manifest through us, and to wrestle with what hinders this. There is much, both within us and without, that works against savoring and shining. Recognizing and resisting the bushels that threaten the light is a practice and a journey all its own. It can be terrifying, these days, to see the ease with which so many of us accept the dimming, allow the bushels that diminish our light as we give over discernment and freedom in exchange for seeming security.

Jesus’ words this week are meant to wake us, to remind us of what we carry in our bones: the living presence of the God who bids us be salt in this world in all our savory particularity; to be light in the way that only we can blaze.

So how savory are you these days? How is light finding its way into you and through you? Is there anything—or anyone—that is working against this, that is tipping a bushel over your shining? Might there be some part of you that needs revealing, needs to unhide itself in this Epiphany season?

Blessing of Salt, Blessing of Light

By the time you come
to the end of this blessing
these words will be barely enough
to fit in the palm of your hand

but fold your fingers around them
and take them
as an offering
a sacrament
a sign:

touch the words
to your tongue
and taste how
they have traveled
through marrow and bone
to reach you,
how they have passed
through each chamber
of the heart,
how they have come
through the layers
that make up the soul:
the strata of stories
and questions,
longings and
dreams.

Savor the way the words
are not mere residue
or dross,
the bitter leavings
from the refining.

By their taste
you will know instead
they are the essence
they are the core
they are what has come
through the burning,

holding still
the memory of fire
and the imprint of light;
holding the clarity that comes
when all that is not needful
passes away.

So take these words
as a blessing; touch them
to your mouth
(may you taste)
your eyes
(may you see)
your ears
(may you hear)

and then let them go,
let them fall to earth
where all salt finally goes.

See the path they make
for you,
the path that blazes
inside of you,
lighting the way
ahead of you
that only you
can go.

[To use the “Blessing of Salt, Blessing of Light” image, please visit this page at janrichardsonimages.com. Your use of janrichardsonimages.com helps make the ministry of The Painted Prayerbook possible. Thank you!]

P.S. In a lovely bit of synchronicity, we have two celebrations coming up this week that are well-married to the gospel reading. February 1 brings us the Feast of St. Brigid, the beloved Celtic saint who was a light for the early church in Ireland and whose stories are often marked by the presence of fire. February 2 is Candlemas, also known as the Feast of the Presentation or the Feast of the Purification of Mary. For my reflections on these luminous days, which are among my favorites of the year, click on the images or titles below.

Golden, Sparkling Flame: Feast of St. Brigid

Feast of the Presentation/Candlemas