“Rock It” a poem by Rev. Jane Siebert

This poem recently appeared in the messenger.

Photo of cairn rocks with ocean in the background by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Rock It”
by Rev. Jane Siebert
Rocks relate to natural truths.
Rocks have a lot to tell us about
ourselves and about others.
Some have holes in them where
they lost a part of themselves
when life hit hard
but they are still beautiful.
Some have had all their rough edges worn off
from tumbling over and over in the
stream of providence
and are smooth and gentle from the ride.
Some have cracks where they
butted up against another rock
and were hurt in the process,
but they are still strong.
Some have hidden beauty inside
and we have to help them
to crack open and see it.
Some are pretty on one side
and not so much on the other.
We need to be a little careful of
people, I mean rocks like this.
Some are big and showy
and they draw our attention
and some need to be closely
examined to find their gift.
Some have to be washed off
because the dirt of life
hides their inner treasure.
Some are tiny and easily
Pay attention.
You might miss the jewel.
Not one is just a rock
if we take time and look closely.
Every rock has a story.

#AshWednesday Reflections @annawoof

“Maybe it is no mistake that Christians press ash, and dust, and dirt, into our foreheads as we enter into Lent. We long for this symbol of death, and mortality, endings and crumblings… because we know that within it, there is something so deep and comforting. As we acknowledge that the endings are the stuff of which the new beginnings are made, we see that our dust is what makes soil for growth. The God that created us is the same God that is blowing into our dust, like that God did of primordial Adam, creating us anew. That God is the same God that is holding the breadth of the cycles and assuring us that even what is crumbling is being cared for, and that love is being infused at every stage. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, dirt to dirt, remember that you are dust and to dust you will return.

From @annawoof

Seeing those ashes on each other’s foreheads reminds us how we’re all in it together, in this messy, dirty, beautiful, interconnected web of life. And it’s as if in that moment, the dust dissolves that which separates us, as if the ash burns through the illusion that we are anything but fellow humanity, and part of creation. In that moment, we’re all in it together, mortal and human; creation, created, creator; lover and beloved; dust, dirt, heart, and spirit; all mixed together on this sacred evening.”
–Rev. Anna Woofenden

Blessing the Dust
For Ash Wednesday
All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners
or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—
did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?
This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.

This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.
This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.
So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are
but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made
and the stars that blaze
in our bones
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.

—Jan Richardson
from Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons

#PoetryThursday “As Dust is Blown”



The structures and orders of men

Winnow before the fiat of Nature:

Springtime urges itself upon the building

In which I stay, built by some past creature.


And now this building, upon which Spring

So fatally breaks, is owned by others,

Whose hold will try to close and commit

To whose governance and strictures and smothers

The lives of those whose sway they aim to own.

One brick structure amidst a season

Fatally arriving as untold aeons

Before it have ordained; as dust is blown

Upon Egypt, or a street, or a mist rises

Upon a grassy yard, a clover grows,

An alarm sounds upon a human crisis

A river or a glacier flows–

A human or Divine being perhaps silently knows

By Rev. David Fekete


#FridayFeeling “On Children” @CinciMUSEchoir


On Children
 Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts, 
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, 
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, 
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, 
and He bends you with His might 
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, 
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Poetry in Honor of Friends

“Fairy Tales” by Chester Swor

It seems wherever I go
People come into my life or go out of it
Touching me where I feel
Then leaving me only a memory
Like the Gossamer fairy tales of children –
Easily forgotten
And I wasn’t through knowing them.

How do I know
Who I am seeing for the last time?
How do you halt your life to gather and keep all
Those around you that you’ve ever known?
And how do you keep fairy tales from losing their magic?

So come
Brush against the walls of my life
And stay long enough for us to know each other
Even though we’ll have to part sometime
And we both know
The longer you stay
The more I’ll want you when you are gone.

But come anyway
For fairy tales are the happiest stories we read
And great books are made of little chapters.


#FridayFun Garden Variety Poetry

A Community Garden limerick:

There once was a woman who gardened,

Her plants grew in soil that hardened,

She vowed to bring unity;

Form a community,

And make good soil you can grow chard in!

(C) Maggie Panyko 2018

Saturday, 5/26/18, at 9 am, we plant our garden. RSVP to newchurchofmontgomery@gmail.com today if you are coming.

Bring trowels in you have ’em.