Great spirit of the cosmos,
source of love and life,
we give great thanks for today
on this luscious autumn morning.
Our hearts are lifted,
our spirits soar.
We gather this morning
in this sacred Springbank place.
Inspired by the living wisdom
of Thomas Merton—
monk, priest, writer to the world—
may we each softly pray.
Each of us
is sacred seeker
on a wondrous journey
toward our true self.
We gathered among
the live oak trees,
under the warm autumn sun
and we told our stories
It was here
we became friends,
laughed and cried,
stirred unexpected memories.
We recalled when we were young,
as we gathered to say our prayers
of wonder and awe,
of pain and letting go.
Yes, we sang
songs of resurrection;
in great anticipation,
we prayed for our shattered earth.
May our souls as well
be today made whole.
They took the stage
to talk about the future
here in this town
where black-skinned people live.
Some told stories
about violence, bias and hate.
Yet from within their hearts of sorrow
a transformational moment occurred.
Survivors embraced, sang and prayed,
“May there be no more shootings,
no more terror, no more death.”
Melodies flowed across the meadow
In songs of beauty and new life, we pray,
“May each caged and separated child
experience once again
freedom and her parents’ love.”
Today we pray,
“Divine of the universe and earth,
may there be no more strangers.
Make us whole, make us healthy,
make us one again.”
The indigenous people of the far north gather and proclaim to the world, “The ice caps are melting.”
With these powerful words, they announce a prophetic inconvenient truth about the real and present danger that today affects our planet home.
Yes, we must act now to bring to a close this dangerous moment that threatens the end of ice in our time.
Encampments line the streets of Oakland,
bear witness to many displaced lives,
all while Arctic ice is melting,
punctuated by the furor
of Dorian’s wind and rain.
Meanwhile gunshots fly aimlessly,
toward unprotected souls,
leaving death and destruction in their wake.
These are words spoken by 16-year-old climate activist Greta Thunberg. She sailed across the ocean in an emission-free boat to bring attention to the global climate crisis. She responded to her childhood depression and hopelessness by telling us “another world is possible” and that we are unstoppable, because when we work together, anything can happen.
The bomb has gone off.
Earth is on fire.
The rainforest can’t breathe.
Russia is radioactive.
Our leader has gone mad.
With the future uncertain,
Pray, “Pacem in terris”
before it’s too late.
The words of a black man
lost his life
in a chokehold
by one called to serve and protect.
Not only Eric Garner,
the Amazon forest,
the lungs of the Earth
can’t breathe as well.
Join Sr. Dorothy Stang,
the martyr for trees,
that Mother Earth
may flourish and creation survive.
Across the arid land
stand crosses galore.
A memory, a burial site
for babies, elders and the poor,
who on their freedom journey
lost their way
and lost their lives.
Among crosses galore
we hear Samaritans pray,
“No more death.”
Welcome outsiders.
May water, shade and food
be the prayers
we offer.
Terror and fear
flow across the Earth.
In Mississippi
an eleven-year-old girl
cries out through tears,
“My dad is not a criminal.”
Meanwhile at the border
of Mexico and America,
people are dying
on their journey for freedom,
from lack of food,
water and shelter.
These brown-skin people
are kept in the dark
like mushrooms, covered in lies.
For their broken hearts, we pray,
“Heal what is broken,
make us one again.”
We gathered among the trees,
embraced by the land
where Thomas Berry dwelled.
Here with the meadow, butterflies and daisies
is where he found his voice.
For more than forty years
he studied, read and taught
about the beauty of the Earth and the danger ahead,
a foreboding he felt
about what will befall our sacred home.
A wise and friendly man, ablaze with words and surprise,
thank you! You said that when you died
you were not going anywhere.
But you were not correct.
You are among us now, here among the trees.
It happened again.
And again!
Lives lost,
empty rage,
broken hearts.
A wounded world,
a land of sorrow
left behind.
Pray with your feet,
I hear the people say.
Lift up your hearts.
Put down your guns.
Let peace reign today,
yes, may peace reign today!
Extinguish and loss
hover in my heart,
flash upon the silver screen
on this horrific day.
A girl of thirteen, a boy of six,
lives extinguished and lost
on this festive Gilroy, California,
summer day.
Imagine, my friends,
the fragility of life,
embraced, held captive
and extinguished today.
I walk along the streets of Berkeley,
a city with a proud and progressive past,
a place where movements were born
that flowed across the land.
Here on Telegraph Avenue,.
where the free speech anthem was sung,
on a street corner today, I see
a mother and child begging for food
A Vietnam vet is shouting for peace,
with no one listening,
here in this place of unaffordable rents,
expensive food and lonely people.
Whatever happened to “by the people, for the people”?
Due to eco-apartheid, the wealthy can afford clean water, healthy food and moderate temperatures.
The poor and neglected sink into oppressive heat; they face failed harvests, arid fields and shattered hopes.
Through the vast heart of difference, we must awaken to beauty manifest in and through race, gender, culture and creed. Yes, we are all precious in God’s sight.
As Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., proclaimed, people must be judged by the content of their character rather than the color of their skin.
Let us join hands and hearts and pray that each new day will make possible a more equitable world, flourishing with generous harvests, reversing climate change, reinvigorating our common home.
Amen.
When I was 18, my mother was dying of colon cancer. As her illness progressed, she worried about my future. I was the youngest of her children, the only one who had not yet found a career path. Since my older sister and brother were both enrolled at Queens University in Kingston, Ontario, it was assumed I would follow them.
However, as I pondered the meaning of my mother’s illness and her immanent death, my attention turned to the state of the world. It was the 1960s: the time of the Vietnam War, the civil rights movement, and publication of Silent Spring. I knew I had to take a different path, one that committed me to the work of social justice, peace, and caring for the planet.
I see parallels now between my early life and the state of the world today. Mother Earth is experiencing a frightening loss of vitality, through arid fields, floods, rampant hunger and death. I pray that I and others will be aroused by these dire circumstances to make a full-throated commitment to save the planet and her people before it is too late.
Today we witness another innocent child breathing her last, sinking into unavoidable death, the victim of squalor hunger, and disease.
Pope Francis cries out for mercy and relief for the many children who flee north from violence and poverty only to find themselves caught in the cross hairs of hunger, filth, and loneliness. Separated from their families, they languish in despair. All they sought was a doorway to freedom, but that door was slammed shut through brutal acts of incarceration.
Not only is this dreadful moment happening on our southern border, but similar circumstances are present around the world, in places such as North Korea, Syria, and Sudan. Across our endangered planet, we see ecological devastation; the absence of good work; lack of food, pure water, and abundant harvest.
We ask how we may navigate this perilous time and move forward into a more viable future.
Perhaps we can reflect on the gifts of science and religion. We can find wisdom and encouragement by recalling how humanity moved from believing in a static universe to understanding that the Earth rotates around the sun. We can remember the significant shift that occurred when humanity awakened to a consciousness of evolution. And we can remember the birth of psychology, which allowed us to distinguish between the conscious and unconscious mind. Perhaps today we are being summoned to the precipice of another new shift in human awareness.
Where can I go
but to the way of nothingness,
that empty place from which
unplanned intuition is born.
Yes, from apparent nothingness
the unimaginable bursts forth.
What was not before comes to be.
From mystery,
an unbidden voice calls out.
Out of wonder,
the beauty of new life appears.
Peace and wonder fill the world.
Amen. Alleluia. Amen.
The tree of life
is shelter in the storm,
standing elegant
in sunshine and in rain.
Rooted in the great story,
you rise up and
extend your branches,
heal our planet’s wounds,
bathe us in beauty all around.
You are the tree of life.
Dance in the fields.
Celebrate the presence
of every flower and bird
in the meadow of new life.
Like each plant,
spider and bird,
join the chorus.
Proclaim with joy
the mystery we call our life.
Listen to the river
echo in my heart.
On this St. Clair day,
I voyage upstream,
where elements of life abound.
Buoyant, refreshing moments
activate dangerous memories,
manifest in rainbows to the world.
From the channel bank,
my heart leaps
in sacred salutations
of wordless wisdom,
announcing news
of our planetary soul.
