We're going to do REAL jazz liturgy on Sunday ~ lots of improvisation ~ inviting the congregation to sing the hymns they want/need ~ prayers, too. I've put together some notes, but not a text, for my message built around the story of the anonymous woman from the streets in Mark 14. My friend in Brooklyn sent me this poem from Mary Oliver that resonates with the groove.
My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird —
equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn? Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?
Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.