But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow.

Through the branches glance

The moon’s pale round glow of peace

Let my soul rise up

I have been walking through Common Prayer these mornings.

Every morning begins with a prayer to let my soul rise up

To greet Him as the sun rises

Glory to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit

As it was in the beginning, is now and will be forever.

And  there is always a song.

Today was “The Servant Song”, and as always, YouTube provides a plethora of options. There are the usual sunsets and ocean vistas lyric powerpoints. And one with clips from Sister Moon and Brother Sun.

Will you let me be your servant
Let me be as Christ to you
Pray that I might have the grace
To let you be my servant too

But there was also one with clips from The Lord of the Rings.

Last night was the last night for the Coverdale family at 6902 E Fourth Street. Some of the stuff of homes has already been hauled across town to the waiting two-bedroom condo. And there are boxes of dishes wrapped in newspaper and the to donate piles are growing. And of course, because this is the Coverdale home, stacks and stacks of books are being sorted and ever-so-many-half-empty-photo-albums. 

We are pilgrims on the journey
We are brothers on the road
We are here to help each other
Walk the mile and bear the load

The heat of day had dissipated and the night air was fresh under a just-waning moon. We all bounced up and down in the bouncy black patio chairs by the double-bowl fountain. And the stories flowed a bit, of the climbing rope Scott got for his thirteenth birthday and how he and Tom would sneak over to the neighborhood school to rappel off the roof. And how on the back of the silverware drawer of the cupboard that Grandpa Eckberg made for mom and dad it is written that the wood came from the shutter of their 1815 house. There was a scary moment when Jenny realized that it was NOT dad creaking around in the backyard because he and mom were standing together at the end of the hallway so it must be a burglar. And dad chased him out through the squeaky gate.

I will hold the Christ light for you
In the night time of your fear
I will hold my hand out to you
Speak the peace you long to hear.

But mostly, it was a gentle night of Coverdaleness. The Mexican salad in Alene’s carved wooden  bowl. Homemade rolls covered with sesame seeds. Green beans and almonds. Grilled Portobello mushrooms and mozzarella cheese and basil. Zach chatting about his new job at University Medical Center’s intensive care unit. Jenny giving me her great idea of writing a haiku of gratefulness each morning. Scott spending the day with Uncle Jim helping him with his money management. Mom actually sitting at the end of the table, drinking iced tea, and not in the kitchen sticking dishes into the washer.

I will weep when you are weeping
When you laugh, I’ll laugh with you
I will share your joy and sorrow
Till we’ve seen this journey through.

One of the Coverdale things is that we spent a lot of time traveling together, mostly in a blue Chrysler station wagon back and forth and around these united states playing the license plate game and spelling out GHOST, but also in an orange VW van through Belgium and Holland and Switzerland and Italy and France and Spain, and we stayed in a lot of pensiones and Motel 6 motels and even more KOA campsites and for a couple of years I read the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy out loud.

And sometimes I am pretty stubborn and quick to make a decision. And when I brought home a used dog with a crazy smile to hang out with my dad, I announced that her name was Samwise Gamgee. Because old Samwise Gamgee pretty much sums up my feelings about my family. Old Samwise who couldn’t carry the unnamed burden, but he sure could carry Mr. Frodo up that last dark cliff of Mt. Doom.

All of the sideways cracks about hitching up your britches and stopping your bellyaching is just part of the Coverdale story. The real story is that my family is really about serving. We all know that my dad’s first words whenever he answered the telephone were, “How can I help you?” Without a shadow of resentment, he was filled with a deep quiet joy at yet another opportunity to be like his Jesus. And it doesn’t really matter where or what, if it was hauling shoes and haircuts to orphans in Tijuana or sitting through endless doctor visits with our Vietnamese boat family or sticking on long strips of labels onto missionary newsletters, this was our true legacy that will not end when we all drive away from the oleander-bushed pink brick house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Not the gold-gilt Mama Gert mirrors or Papa’s sturdy oak chairs, but the lived out look of what it means to be as Christ.

When we sing to God in heaven
We shall find such harmony
Born to all we’ve known together
Of Christ’s love and agony

Thank you daddy. Thank you momma.

And you could see that today. People don't have water. They don't have diapers for kids. They have nothing.

Remember me according to Your love and for the sake of Your goodness, Oh LORD. Psalm 25:2

Be still, and know that I am God. Psalm 46:10

The gift of liturgy is that it helps us hear less of our own little voices and more of God’s still, small voice. It leads away from self and points us toward the community of God. God is a plurality of oneness. God has “lived in community” from eternity as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. God as Trinity is the core reality of the universe, and that means that the core of reality is community. -Claiborne

My own little voice is what I am trying to silence. And it is a lot easier to do it painting Somali refugee children faces like clowns and pumpkins and butterflies. And harder to do it walking Sabino Canyon alone, even if you keep singing Your love oh Lord reaches to the heavens, Your faithfulness stretches to the sky every time you sense yourself sliding off track.

We must connect our prayers to the rest of God’s children throughout the world and through all time and space, people who are reading the same Scriptures, singing the same songs, praying the same prayers, and grafting their lines into the same old story of a God who is forming a people who are set apart from the world to be God’s light and to show the world what a society of love looks like.
-Claiborne

And Amy did a little exercise before we went over to the Oasis apartment complex. We ripped a piece of paper into sixteen pieces. On four squares we wrote Four things we liked to do, on four more we wrote things we were thankful for, then four favorite people, and lastly four roles that we play, like teacher, mother, wife and friend. Of course, the first step was to select one square from each pile and rip it up and throw it on the floor. Then we had to randomly select one from each pile and rip it up and throw it on floor without peeking as to what it was that we lost. Then Amy and her friend skipped around the circle and grabbed or didn’t grab handfuls of paper slips and rip them up and throw them up in the air. And some people lost them all, some one, some, like me, lost nothing more. And these are our refugees and their loss.

And this morning on my way out to Sabino Canyon, NPR had a story told by a reporter who was visiting this tiny little town in Turkey one mile from the Syrian border, when overnight tens of thousands descend onto the town, fleeing ISIS. And it costs 35 million dollars a week to feed Syrian refugees and the WFP is running out of money. And when a food truck is delivering food from Damascus, they are stopped at more than forty or fifty checkpoints.

And all of this puts Tucson potholes in shameful perspective.

Prayer: Lord, teach us to pray without ceasing, even when words escape us, and to work toward your kingdom, even when we cannot see it. Amen.