journalling
Reflections on finding God in everyday life.
Wednesday 23 October 2024
Living amidst the ruins
Sunday 15 September 2024
The likeness of God
James 3:8-10
But no one can tame the tongue—a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so.
“Did God say…” the serpent whispered to the woman
sowing a seed of doubt and of mistrust
so that in every age, those born women
have been doubted and viewed with suspicion
The whisper continues… denying the likeness of God
in all who are different
an insidious toxin that worms its way into the fissures
created by discrimination
Those soft whispers are amplified
until they become voices raised in anger and hatred
The seeds they sow take root and flourish
until whole sections of community
are riven by discontent
that acts as kindling
for conflagrations of violence
And those who stand on the sidelines
are recruited to a cause
that sweeps up all in its path
to resist any who are different
Blinded to the likeness of God
that resides at the core of every human being
We who blithely share the poison
in humorous memes on our ‘influencer’ pages
continue to perpetrate the ‘othering’
by providing fuel for the fire of prejudice
And we who are silent
fail to dampen the flame of intolerance
that denies our shared status: Beloved of God
How shall we raise our voices
from a whisper
to a thunderous roar
that asserts the wisdom of God
who created all in the likeness of God?
Liz Crumlish September 2024
Sunday 1 September 2024
Perhaps
North Shore, Iona |
Perhaps
when we have sat on a beach in a storm
and contemplated the force of the wind
and the ferocity of the waves
we might have greater respect
for those who risk their lives
taking to small boats in unpredictable weather
to find safety
Perhaps
when we have meandered through the woods
or been awed by the stillness of the forest
noticing how life bursts through
in the least expected places
Or contemplated how ecology connects and communicates
with myriad species
we might learn to join their conversation
to ask before taking of the abundance we find
Perhaps
even in the midst of the concrete laden squares
of our towns and cities
we might notice the foxes raking through the bins
or the heron flying overhead
or the buzzard perched on the lamp post
eying the rats or the hatchlings, potential food for their young
we might wonder at how the animal world
takes what it needs to survive
knowing that, in time to come, they too, will return to the earth
Perhaps
even the slightest nod to nature
that surrounds us in myriad ways
will still us and ground us sufficiently
and help us to contemplate the wonder
that everything belongs
and for any to flourish
all must flourish
Perhaps
with eyes open and fists unclenched
the beating of our hearts may find connection
with the beating heart of all creation
compelling us to work together
for the healing of the earth
Liz Crumlish September 2024
Friday 30 August 2024
Weaver of stories
In 30 years of ministry I can't say I have ever experienced a desire to preach.
Back then I wasn't able to articulate it but now I know that the role to which I felt called was more akin to that of a story weaver. A role that involved more listening than speaking, allowing folks to hear their own and others' stories and to make connections with one another and with the God who created each of us as storied beings. Forging connections with a God who beholds humanity through tear filled eyes, extending love filled arms, imploring us to look at one another and to listen to one another's stories. For only in hearing one another's stories and, through them, holding one another sacred, will we be able to protect the fragile light from being snuffed out by the darkness of conflict.
Story Weavers
The heavy threads of fear and grief
are borne gently
their weight acknowledged as they are interspersed
with gossamer light filaments of love
whose strength belies their fragility
They are laid out in an intricate pattern
that extends an invitation to draw near
to see better
to hear better
tales of war and violence
and hunger and greed
interrupted by incidents
of reverence and kindness
that offer some salve
to the hurt and anguish
And while the darkness is barely diminished
a thread of hope begins to emerge
to infiltrate despair
as stories are held with sacred regard
bringing transformation in their sharing.
Liz Crumlish August 30, 2024
Sunday 18 August 2024
Wisdom, bread and wine
Proverbs 9:1,2,5,6
Wisdom has built her house,
she has hewn her seven pillars.
She has slaughtered her animals, she has mixed her wine,
she has also set her table.
“Come, eat of my bread
and drink of the wine I have mixed.
Lay aside immaturity, and live,
and walk in the way of insight.”
Wisdom comes slowly
a gradual dawning that emerges
to change perspective
to soften the edges
of all our binaries
It seeps in like an infusion
that slowly affects its host
like yeast in bread and wine
leavening, fermenting, transfiguring
wherever it is afforded space to breathe
To capture its nurturing essence
it is necessary to linger
tasting the bread of compassion
and savouring the wine of abundance
allowing their goodness to infiltrate
the lives of the host and the guest
creating a fertile plain
in which wisdom may flourish
for the life of the world.
Thursday 15 August 2024
Transforming stories
Ruins of the 13C Augustinian Nunnery on Iona |
Tormentil - soothes the gut |
Kenilworth Ivy - wound healer |
It’s not enough
to be able to name the flowers
We must get to know their stories
and listen to all that they can teach us
The hard working women
who inhabited the cloisters
of the Augustinian abbey in Iona
listened to the plants
that grew around
their wild and rugged island
They found healing for wounds
in the absorptive sphagnum moss
And soothing for guts
in the tannins of Tormentil
They befriended the star shaped beauty
of St John’s wort
that hinted at light in the long days and nights
of the harsh Scottish winter
Their gentle inquiry
and their patient listening
unearthed underground mysteries
And, as they held sacred the stories
already there for the telling,
they breathed new life into the next chapter
of the stories of the flowers
that promised healing for the world
I can’t help but wonder how
if we humans were to listen carefully
to one another’s stories
we might nurture a way of caring
for the wounds of the world.
Liz Crumlish, Iona August 2024
Monday 22 July 2024
Feast of Mary Magdalene
John 20:1,14-18
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb.
…She turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ ” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.
I wonder how long…
How long
in the dark of that early morning
did Mary hold her delicious secret
close to her heart
How long did she savour
that gargantuan news
that he whom she accompanied
in life and in death
chose her to be there for his rising
For those precious moments
in the dark of early morning
Mary alone
held the news close
before she took to her heels
to proclaim resurrection
By the words of a woman
the gospel was preached
Thus it was
Is now
And ever shall be
Amen