December 2
The First Week in Advent

              Yesterday Phyllis was outside when she heard a strange thumping noise coming from the window high up in the barn.    She climbed the steps into the loft and discovered a female cardinal, desperately throwing herself against the glass, trying to get out.   This frantic bird, following its instincts to fly toward the light, could not do the calculations that would require her to fly down through the opening in the floor to find her freedom.   In the end, Phyllis cornered the frightened creature, scooped her up in her hands,  cradled her against her body and carried her down the steps and out into the bright December morning.   Phyllis could feel the wild beating of the bird's heart.  The terrified creature could not know that the hands around her meant no harm, but only good. 
            We, too, often bump into the windows of our own limited vision, repetitive and self-destructive habits, and futile stubbornness.    And sometimes it is grace itself that hears the thumping of our hearts, enfolds us in kind and fearsome hands, and offers us some freedom that we can barely understand.     That is, of course, our Advent hope.

CARDINAL IN THE BARN

Lord of wings and feathers,
you who knows when a sparrow falls
and takes joy at the morning song of a wren,
Shall I dare to let you
gather up the bright bird of my heart
in your great hands
and set it free?
I am caught, frustrated, and afraid.
I can not find my way out,
though I may perish in trying.
And you, so great and fearsome a stranger,
may carry me in a direction
I do not understand.
But I am weary of struggling
toward the light I can not reach.
Come.
Take me.

--Timothy Haut, Dec. 2, 2013

Unready

This is the bleak season
  of long nights and heartless cold,
  when all creatures lean
  toward some warming light.
December's sky hangs low,
  threatens some morning surprise--
  a haunted moon, a flitter of snow--
  and we move closer to the fire,
  slide sleepily under soft covers,
  waiting, waiting for a Spring.
We are unready, now,
  for unplanned adventure,
  turn back if our hands are required
  for some impossible mission.
But one night we see a star,
  or stir at a song
  somewhere in the winter silence.
It is the Advent yearning,
  the prophet's voice, the heart's unfolding.
There is a change in the air, in us.
We hoist the greens, light a candle,
  and pray again, and again,
  for your warming light:
"Come, Lord Jesus.”

-Timothy Haut, 2013

Gift

Today the air is cold, scented of snow,
And the morning is lit by rose-hued light.
Rising, I forget that air and light
are the ocean in which I live,
the first of all the holiest gifts.
So thank you, I say,
Thank you,
to the one whose Spirit moved across the emptiness
to name the light, the stars, the seas,
to raise the mountains toward the sun,
to fashion a dream of wonder into life.
Thank you,
to the one whose song we hear
on summer nights as crickets cry their praise,
whose glory rises like peepers in the spring,
or swirls like silver snow.
Thank you to the voice we hear
as we fly home like wildest geese,
hearing the ancient call to a place as old as Eden,
as fresh as a child's tomorrow.
Thank you for it all,
for sweet water, and cake,
and pillows at night,
and laughter over wine, and hands to hold,
and remembering, and sometimes forgetting,
and words to heal, and willow trees,
and hummingbirds and elephants,
and candles and wishes,
for tenderness and kisses,
and whispers and the warmth of firelight,
and for the greatest gift of this blue planet,
for us fettered by flesh, wounded, broken and afraid,
who find our way to  love.
And if, tomorrow, I wake again
and breathe the air, cold and scented of snow,
and watch a rose rise like sun,
I will again give thanks to You,
that it is all, all of it, a gift,
and that love is in it all.

--Timothy Haut, Nov. 24, 2013

Chocolate in My Hand

The young girl grins,
and love shines out,
as she presses into my palm
a piece of chocolate,
a chunk of the treasure
bought with her own small dole of coins.
she could have squirreled it away,
saved it for a late-night craving,
nibbled on it to make
her homework less painful,
hid it beneath her pillow
as insurance against a barren day.
But this child knows
some greater truth:
that the best part of life
is in the giving,
and joy is the prize
sweeter than chocolate.
For this
we, too, are given
the greatest gifts.

 --Timothy Haut, 2013

November Prayer

God of the bittersweet and the bare branch,
sing a song for the darkness.
Let it be a song of thanks,
a tune as sweet as sunlight
and the memory of golden hills;
and let it be a song to still
the restless winds and winter's fearfulness.

Sing to us a melody of hope
when hearts are cold and night is long;
a song to help us see the winging geese
and turning constellations,
so that we might rise, rise with them
toward that flaming, bright horizon
at the edges of our world.

God of the first frost and the fox's cry,
sing a song for the waning light,
Let it be a song of faith,
so that the last leaf and the fallow earth
may be signs both of ending and beginning.
Let your hymn make us brave as bulbs,
sunk in the sightless earth,
making ready for spring.

Sing to us a song of love,
sing it deep inside us,
a sweetness for our most bitter times,
a peace to give us holy rest,
an answering voice
at the end of our truest prayers.
Amen.
Amen.

 --Timothy Haut, 2010

Prayer for All Hallows

We are just children, Lord,
  who are looking for kindness
  as we journey through the night.
The wind howls,
  and strangers loom in the shadows.
We try to be strong and brave,
  laugh as we stumble on our way,
  but we are far from home.
We need a bright face
  to light up the darkness,
  a smile
  in the night.
Shine on, bright  Spirit.
Help us to keep our eyes
  on You.

--Timothy Haut, October 27, 2013

We Are the Trees

We are the trees,
Spilling our prayers on the world
Like leaves in the wind,
As if there could never be enough.
They fly recklessly,
Turning and spinning
Most of them finding their way
Into great crackling piles
That will be swept away,
Forgotten, turned back to earth.
But perhaps one or two
Will rise into autumn's bluest sky,
A bit of fire in the waning light,
And love will grow from them,
And light will follow them
Into October's darkness,
And this created world
Will bless the trees
For their faithfulness.

--Timothy Haut, October 16, 2013