Being Prayer

 

Lord, it is summer,
a time to pause from the busyness
to remember who we are.
Make us lie down in green pastures,
feel the grass pushing up against us,
so that we might know its blessing.
Remind us, as we lie there on our backs,
that we are made of earth--
formed of the same holy stuff
of sunflowers and squirrels,
golfinches and fireflies,
creatures of your delight!
And yet we gaze into the heavens,
marvel with wonder at clouds
in a thousand shifting shapes
as they sail like ships across the sky,
before giving way to singing night
and the ancient mystery of stars.
And then we dream of wings.
Spirit and flesh,
wind and earth,
longing and love,
we are yours.
Make us lie down
in the breathing place
between earth and heaven,
and be.

 

--Timothy Haut, June 23, 2013

June

Now June settles in,

Warm as sun,

Strawberry-sweet.

It is the world turned green,

No patch of earth able to stay bare,

Burgeoning with sprouting weeds,

Pushing up lush grass,

Clover-speckled,

Alive with the hum of bees

And the dance of butterflies.

In this time of long light

A quiet breeze stirs

The great leaves of rhubarb,

Waves the purple heads of iris,

Ripples the emerald waters

Of pond and stream,

Carries the evening song

Of grateful wrens and awakening cicadas.

Perhaps it is not just a movement of air,

But the delighted sigh

Of the One who is Life

Admiring this June creation,

Winking at us in the first firefly,

Spilling this goodness as a gift,

Hoping that we might receive with wonder

This June blessing.

--Timothy Haut, June 2, 2013

The Hymn of Life

Out of the silence whispers
the first rustle of morning,
wind in leaves,
the stirring of a sparrow,
then the full-throated song.
Soon the full-throated world
joins in the symphony of daylight:
the hum of tires and horns,
the trucks waking the world
on the busiest byways,
through tree-covered hills and shouting cities,
the chattering televisions and squawking phones,
the ringing of hammers and school bells,
awake, awake, awake,
all sounds rising and echoing into a hymn of life,
of wondrous laughter and terrible pain,
of boisterous cheers and tenderest love,
of praise and joy for the mystery of it all.
This is the world, come to sing,
to make its glad and grand music,
calling trumpet and clarinet to weave a tale,
piano and drums to echo the heartbeat
of infancy and age, trouble and triumph,
filling our days with dancing,
making its magic into the darkest night
until the last note says 'Amen'
and slips into silence again,
when the heart rests, remembers,
dreams itself to sleep,
and waits
for the music to begin again.

--Timothy Haut, 2013

Safe at Home

This perfect April afternoon,

All green and golden,
Joy calls us to the familiar yard
Tilting up to the smiling woods.
We have a bat and ball
A grandfather for a pitcher
And a seven-year-old full of life
Who sends a fly ball into the sprouting lettuce,
Then races around an imaginary first base,
Stops at second,
And lies down in the uncut grass
On her back, arms spread wide
To count the blackbirds in the tall maple.
They may be calling to her, “Run, run!”
But she does not move,
Content to be there, young, joyful,
Laughing at such a life
In which we are always
Safe at home.
--Timothy Haut, May, 2013

　

　

May Glory

Glory be to you, O Lord,
  for this arisen-ness of May:
For the golden joy of a million dandelions
  falling like sunlight on awakening fields;
For the flame of azaleas
  and the confetti of apple blossoms
  celebrating this most amazing life;
For the wild anthems of birds at sunrise
  and the noonday hum of bees;
For the first tendrils of garden peas
  and the hopefulness of lettuce
  waiting for what is yet to come;
For rain, soft upon the land,
  and air, sweet, tender, alive;
For children rejoicing in long grass,
  rising into tempting treetops,
  racing around bases
  as if they could make world itself turn
  by sheer exuberance;
For these we give you thanks, O God.
Let it be that in our gratitude
  we may know your presence,
  and that in your presence
  we may find our peace.
Amen.

--Timothy Haut, May, 2013

Love, the Gift

How can we do this:
To welcome the stranger,
The one who comes unknown
Into our tended, tethered lives
To break our hearts again?
Our days are full,
Too many already make a claim
Upon our patience,
Need something from us
That we are barely able to give.
But now the door opens.
Once again,
We see the frightened eyes,
The wounded heart,
The outstretched hand.
We see something else, too,
If we dare to receive it.
We see the gift
This stranger bears,
The thing that changes us.
It is what makes us holy,
What makes us brave and good.
It is love.

--Timothy Haut, April 28, 2013

Prayer of Thomas

Love me
 for my doubts, my Lord.
 I was not there to see you
 fresh-risen, sore-fleshed,
 wide-eyed at a morning
 stirred with Spring.
 Once I had offered
 to go with you
 when all the others
would have stayed behind,
 offered to step into
 the barrens of death
 to be by your side.
 But your journey
was not mine to make,
 your death so bitter
that no sweet thing was left
for me to seek.
 Forgive me, then,
 your flawed and faithless twin,
 for needing to see you,
 to touch the wounded hand
 that holds my heart still.
 Come to my uncertainty
 with your kindness,
 touch my wounds
with your risen finger,
 and let me believe the song
 that wants to sing in me.

--Timothy Haut, Deep River, CT