Friday of the Twenty-ninth Week in Ordinary Time

Romans 7:18=25; Psalm 119: 66,68,76,77,93,94; Luke 12:25-59

wanting
to do good
we do not
as something
wars within us
yet we are called
to see
in this moment
a wisdom
and knowledge
kindness
and compassion
a goodness
we come to know as
the will of God
written upon
our hearts
it is our delight
as it frees us
and saves us
to do the good
we long to do
in God’s love

Are you willing to do good but do not?
What sets you free?

Wednesday of the Twenty-ninth Week in Ordinary Time

Romans 6:12-18; Psalm 124: 1-8; Luke 12:39-48

freed from
the law
living
under grace
sin has no power
as our bodies
are given over
to the goodness
of God
entrusted
with this love
we care
for ourselves
and one another
in our common home
feeding
sheltering
sustaining
inspiring
with all
we have been given
so generously

What has power over your life?
What is it to live by grace?

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Exodus 17:8-13; Psalm 121:1-8; 2Timothy 3:14-4:2; Luke 18:1-3

call out
to God
day and night
with hands raised
persist
in faith
persist
in prayer
persist
in receiving
wisdom
from His word
support
one another
for Truth
for Love
welcoming
reproving
correcting
appealing
whether convenient
or inconvenient
so that He
might find
your faith
alive
on earth

Do you persist in prayer day and night
Do you help another?
Do you let another help you?

Saturday of the Twenty-eighth Week in Ordinary Time

In Memory of My Sister Marie Joyce

The Ache of Autumn

The trees grow more restless;
October wind weaves through them:
they shake their arms in dismay
as if to fight the coming cold
and the grief of leaves going.

Autumn air does a heart-dance
on branches already gone barren:
the misty air clings to golden leaves.
making the trees bend even lower.

It is a season to hold the trees close,
to stand with them in their grieving.
It is a time to open our inner being
to the misty truths of our own goodbyes.

Autumn comes. It always does.
Good-bye comes. It always does.
The trees struggle with this truth today
and in my deepest of being, so do I.

Every autumn, nostalgia fills me:
every autumn, yearning holds me.
I cling to the ripeness of summer,
knowing it will be many long months
before I can catch a breath of lilac,
or the green of freshly mown grass.

And so I begin my fallow vigil,
remembering the truth of the ages.
Unless the wheat seed dies
it cannot sing a new birth,
Unless summer gives in to autumn
springtime will never embrace me.

-Joyce Rupp