The Peace of Wild Things
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Dawn comes later and later now,
and I, who only a month ago
could sit with coffee every morning
watching the light walk down the hill
to the edge of the pond and place
a doe there, shyly drinking,
then see the light step out upon
the water, sowing reflections
to either side — a garden
of trees that grew as if by magic —
now see no more than my face,
mirrored by darkness, pale and odd,
startled by time. While I slept,
night in its thick winder jacket
bridled the doe with a twist
of wet leaves and led her away,
then brought its black horse with harness
that creaked like a cricket, and turned
the water garden under. I woke,
and at the waiting window found
the curtains open to my open face;
beyond me, darkness. And I,
who only wished to keep looking out,
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Give thanks for all things
On the plucked lute, and likewise
The harp of ten strings.
Have the lifted horn
Greatly blare, and pronounce it
Good to have been born.
Lend the breath of life
To the stops of the sweet flute
Or capering fife,
And tell the deep drum
To make, at the right juncture,
Then, in grave relief,
Praise too our sorrows on the
Cello of shared grief.
Well I know now the feel of dirt under the nails,
I know now the rhythm of furrowed ground under foot,
I have learned the sounds to listen for in the dusk,
the dawning and the noon.
I have held cornfields in the palm of my hand,
I have let the swaying wheat and rye run through my fingers,
I have learned when to be glad for sunlight and for sudden
thaw and for rain.
I know now what weariness is when the mind stops
and night is a dark blanket of peace and forgetting
and the morning breaks to the same ritual and the same
demands and the silence.
~Jane Clement from No One Can Stem the Tide
I did not sleep last night — my mind would not stop, my blankets twisted in turmoil, my muscles too tight. The worries of the day needed serious wrestling in…
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Originally posted here. So delighted to have found this treasure trove:
PRAYERS OF ARTISTS, PRAYERS FOR ARTISTS
I’ve been collecting prayers for artists and from artists for years. I thought I’d go ahead and put a number of them in the same place. There are plenty more, of course (such as here or here or here). But perhaps one of these may be of use to you or to artists in your community, perhaps even become a prayer that settles into the heart and turns into a source of daily rumination. As Richard Foster has said, to pray is to become a different kind of person. “All who have walked with God,” he writes, “have viewed prayer as the main business of their lives.” It is a beautiful and powerful thing when prayer becomes the deliberate, ongoing, chewing and chawing, mumbling here and there, even unconscious business of an artist’s life.
A Prayer for Artists
(Bryan Brown, worship pastor at Christ Church in Austin and the worship leader of the Transforming Culture symposium in 2008, adapted from Herbert Whittaker’s “Prayer for the Artists” (1987).)
Lord, remember your artists. Have mercy upon them and remember with compassion all those that reflect the good, the ill, the strengths and the weaknesses of the human spirit.
Remember those who raise their voices in unending song, those who pour their souls into music loud and soft.
Remember those who put pigment to surface, carve wood and stone and marble, who work base metals into beauty, those building upwards from the earth toward heaven.
Remember those who put thought to paper by computer and by pen; the poets who delve, the playwrights who analyze and proclaim, the dreamers-up of narrative, all those who work with the light and shadows of film.
Remember the actors moved by Spirit and dancers moving through space.
Remember all these artists whom you have placed among us, for are they not, O Lord, the fellows of your inspiration? Do they not, Lord God, bring to your people great proof of your divinity and our part in it?
Remember your artists and show them mercy and compassion that they may do the same and so uplift all your people. That they may cry forth your praises, as we do here.
Amen! Amen! Amen!
From The Book of Common Prayer
(17. For Church Musicians and Artists)
O God, whom saints and angels delight to worship in heaven: Be ever present with your servants who seek through art and music to perfect the praises offered by your people on earth; and grant to them even now glimpses of your beauty, and make them worthy at length to behold it unveiled for evermore; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Prayer for Artists
(From “Prayers of Our Heart” by Vienna Cobb Andersen)
Bless the creators, O God of creation, who by their gifts make the world a more joyful and beautiful realm. Through their labors they teach us to see more clearly the truth around us. In their inspiration they call forth wonder and awe in our own living. In their hope and vision they remind us that life is holy. Bless all who create in your image, O God of creation. Pour your Spirit upon them that their hearts may sing and their works be fulfilling. Amen.
Prayer for Vocation in Daily Work (in the arts or any vocation)
(From Venite by Robert Benson)
Deliver us from the service of self alone, that we may do the work You have given us to do, in truth and beauty and for the common good, for the sake of the One who comes among us as One who serves. Amen.
Two Prayers by Flannery O’Connor
(A journal kept by the twenty-one-year-old Flannery O’Connor, whilst studying at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop in 1946, was published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, titled A Prayer Journal. The New Yorker published a few excerpts of her prayers, one of which I include here. It is so very much her, yet we can hear our own voices in it too.)
“Please help me dear God to be a good writer and to get something else accepted. That is so far from what I deserve, of course, that I am naturally struck with the nerve of it…. All boils down to grace, I suppose”
“Dear God, I cannot love Thee the way I want to. You are the slim crescent of a moon that I see and myself is the earth’s shadow that keeps me from seeing all the moon. The crescent is very beautiful and perhaps that is all one like I am should or could see; but what I am afraid of, dear God, is that my self shadow will grow so large that it blocks the whole moon, and that I will judge myself by the shadow that is nothing.
I do not know you God because I am in the way. Please help me to push myself aside.
I want very much to succeed in the world with what I want to do. I have prayed to You about this with my mind and my nerves on it and strung my nerves into a tension over it and said, ‘oh God, please’, and ‘I must’, and ‘please, please’. I have not asked You, I feel, in the right way. Let me henceforth ask You with resignation–that not being or meant to be a slacking up in prayer but a less frenzied kind, realizing that the frenzy is caused by an eagerness for what I want and not a spiritual trust. I do not with to presume. I want to love.
Oh God, please make my mind clear.
Please make it clean.
I ask You for a greater love for my holy Mother and I ask her for a greater love for You.
Please help me to get down under things and find where You are.
I do not mean to deny the traditional prayers I have said all my life; but I have been saying them and not feeling them. My attention is always very fugitive. This way I have it every instant. I can feel a warmth of love heating me when I think & write this to You. Please do not let the explanations of the psychologists about this make it turn suddenly cold. My intellect is so limited, Lord, that I can only trust in You to preserve me as I should be.”
A Prayer of an Artist
(Over the course of my years as a pastor in Austin, I put to paper the sorts of things I prayed for the artists under my care and for myself as well. This is the result of that effort.)
Father God, Creator of all things, seen and unseen, we praise you for the works of your hand. We declare that you are sovereign over our lives, and that you are the originator of all good things. We humbly ask that you would grant us new ideas, even now. Bless our labours. Fulfill your creative purposes in us today.
Jesus Christ, Word of God, Icon of God, we praise you for sanctifying the earth in your incarnation, confirming the goodness of the physical world of stone, wood, metal, wind and fire and flesh. We ask that you would rule our imaginations with wisdom and love. Deliver us from fear and pride. Great Carpenter: teach us, guide us, aid us in our work today.
Holy Spirit, Lord and Giver of life, Power and Fire, we praise you for sustaining all things in being, energizing them with vitality, and ushering them to their future and final state of glory. Purify our souls; scour our hearts; re-order our minds; strengthen our bodies. Free us to be playful today.
Holy God, Holy and Mighty, Three in One, we worship you, we acclaim you, we love you. We praise you for the extravagant love that you demonstrate in the creation of this world. We bless you, and we ask that you would form in us a community of artists that reflect the Divine Community, marked by self-giving love, infectious joy and the desire to honor and glorify the name of God; for Christ’s sake and for the sake of this world. Amen.
An Iconographer’s Prayer
Teach me, Lord, to use wisely the time which You have given me and to work well without wasting a second. Teach me to profit from my past mistakes without falling into a gnawing doubt. Teach me to anticipate the project without worry, to imagine the work without despair if it should turn out differently. Teach me to unite haste and slowness, serenity and ardor, zeal and peace.
Help me at the beginning of the work when I am the weakest. Help me in the middle of the work when my attention must be sustained. And especially fill all the emptiness of my work with Your Presence. Lord, in all the work of my hands, bestow Your Grace so that it can speak to others and my mistake can speak to me alone. Keep me in the hope of perfection, without which I would lose heart, yet keep me from achieving perfection, for surely I would be lost in arrogance.
Purify my sight when I am doing poorly, for one is never sure that the work will turn out badly; Yet when I am doing well, one is never sure that the work will turn out well. Lord, let me never forget that all knowledge is in vain unless there is work. And all work is empty unless there is love. And all love is hollow unless it binds me both to others and to You.
Lord, teach me to pray with my hands, my arms, and all my strength. Remind me that the work of my hands belongs to You and that it is fitting to return this gift to You. Yet, if I work for the pleasure of others, like a flowering plant in the evening I will wither. But if I work for the love of goodness, I will remain in goodness. And the time to work for goodness and for Your Glory is now.
Another treasure from Steve McCurry . . .
The art of conversation is the art of hearing as well as of being heard.
― William Hazlitt, Selected Essays, 1778-1830
Good communication is as stimulating as
black coffee and just as hard to sleep after.
― Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea
A single conversation can completely change the trajectory of our lives.
– Kaye Earle
Los Angeles, California, USA
Conversation should be like juggling;
up go the balls and plates, up and over, in and out,
good solid objects that glitter in the footlights and
fall with a bang if you miss them.
― Evelyn Waugh
Lettuce is like conversation. It must be fresh and crisp, so sparkling
that you scarcely notice the bitter in it.
– Charles Dudley Warner
Golden Temple, Amritsar, India
My idea of good company is the company of clever,
well-informed people who have a…
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I struggled for some time with the title of this week’s blog post. I hope that what I write will show you why and if you think that you might have a better title then please offer it as a comment. I would love to hear from you. I have chosen the simplest title that I can think of. It is simply a description of what happens. Sam sings and he does so in the Tower of Cirith Ungol.
Immediately that seemingly simple statement should make us stop in wonder. The tower is an orc fortress on the border of Mordor, once a part of a ring of fortifications built by Gondor at the height of its power in order to watch over the land that had been taken from Sauron at the great battle in which the Ring was taken from him. As Gondor’s power waned it was taken from…
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