Peggy Eastman

Lord, help us to live lightly on the land.
It is not ours, we know; it is only on generous
loan from You. Help us to treasure the
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Lord, we are beset by perils
in this life east of Eden;
You know it is a hard task to
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Burdened by our mortality,
we Your unworthy creatures
kneel before You, Lord, offering up
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Lord, can it really be that I am part of Your divine plan?
I am no stalwart Moses, leading the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt. No power-rod have I, that serpent changeling held firmly in Moses’ grasp.
And yet…

Lord, You have chosen us for Your very own.
You, whose birth announcement was the
brightest star that ever shone, always desire
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With hearts prepared and minds resolved,
we come before You, Lord, to pledge our
lives to You. There is one body and one Spirit,
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This is the soft season, protracted,
the time of half-denuded pin oak branches
reaching toward a washed blue sky
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Where does holiness dwell?
Is it kept behind the communion rail?
Is it locked in the Bible, or in a
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Newly washed, a pristine morning greets us,
hung out to dry before our widened eyes.
See how the sun bursts through that shining bush;
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Diminutive gowns and suits of white,
tissued safely in storage by generational hands.
Gowns and suits of white cared for by mothers
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After all the parties (too many people talking
too loudly about things we can’t remember);
after all the meetings (too many flow charts, Powerpoints, waving hands and cooling cups of coffee);
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On our own flagging merits, Lord, we
could never stand. None of our makeshift
props could hold us upright. Only the promise
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Lord Jesus, with what gentle hands
You washed Your disciples’ weary feet,
letting the caked grime of all those
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Delicate as a fledgling’s feathers are
the new green leaves of this new spring.
Only partially unfurled, these new
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How brittle they were underfoot, those
palm branches. How hollow they sounded,
those hosannas, how bogus those voices crying
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Lord, we know well that all life is
in flux. Will not this green springy
lawn we tread on today soon wither
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