For we are all pilgrims, winding our way around the clock,
Along the edge of the years,
Circling the sun,
Always ending up back just where we started,
Ahead or behind,
Closer to the end,
Further from the beginning,
Twisting ever upward like we are journeying on endless spiral staircases....
Teach us to number our days,
Even as you teach us to pray like we are movie stars,
And everyone, and One, is watching.
I wonder:
How many prayers of those stars you answered,
Even though they were just acting, just playing a role,
And how many prayers of ours have you answered, even when we were
Acting, just playing a role?
Lord, help us to take five, take ten, take twenty two years
And build a montage,
Build a moment,
Create a cathedral of spotlights and shadows,
A sanctuary of images for every occasion,
A journey of 8,153 days
That started with a single clip,
A single snip
Snip, snip, slip
Backwards, to mom and her quilts,
Cutting and stitching, sometimes snippy but not so much
When she's creating, folding pieces together to warm our bones:
Until it is time for a season of change, for the heart to rearrange,
To reorder the images that help us to love.
Teach us to number our days,
Let us learn this at least,
Even if we never learned jazz saxophone or New Testament Greek...
There are extra layers in these things,
The folds of space and time bending close,
The presence of the future pressing into our time,
The already collapsing into the not yet.
Teach us to number our days,
That we might gain a heart of wisdom,
Remind us we are all in art school,
Observing the masters at work,
Observing the Master at work all around us-- and every so often we glimpse it-- we get it.
Teach us to get it.
Teach us to get it on this Eighth Day of Creation,
Where everything is incense,
Is disappearing like Smoke,
Happy New Year, Old Year, Repeated Year,
Happy loop and loop and loop:
Time passes by, we need a song for Ordinary Time,
we need a song for every season, for every moment,
Help us count time,
Help us to keep time,
To find ourselves in the particularity of this moment,
Where all is collapsing into coincidence, and
All birthdays merge onto January 11th.
There will never be a night like this, but October 2nd
Will come again, and if we play close enough attention,
Attention that is the purest form of generosity,
The beginning of devotion, as a year
Becomes half a day, and a day is found in an hour---
Teach us to number,
So we can give all this as an oblation,
Every second, year, offered in praise--
That we might sing for joy-- and be glad all of our days.
