Jim's Poem a Day 2026

N ot for nothing was this world created, brought into being from the dust of stars, instilled with life by the breath of the wind, animated by the invisible miracle of microbes, sustained by unimaginable forces of mystery. Not for nothing do we experience by gravity and the neverending cycle of death and new life.

It’s not even April, and we have already plotted out the church calendar through May of next year—each holiday service, each special event and church fundraiser, each youth group trip and safety training. This work never ends—which is sometimes a wretched curse but also an infinite blessing.

Spring is a time of change,  a time of growth and light, a time of new beginnings,  of pilgrimages and journeys, a time of putting one foot  in front of the other and setting out, not always knowing where we are going,  but going nevertheless. Let us pause for a moment of silence  to reflect on the season and the journeys that have brought us here, as well as what our next journey might be. May we set out on the path before us, centered in loving community, creating hope with each action we take and with each step along the way.  Amen!

In March,  after a long,  hard winter, cold and sunny  feels infinitely better than  cold and cloudy.

The vine covering the tree next door has remained green all winter long and now in spring grows greener still as rain descends in drops and torrents, and the earth tries to heal itself and us.  

Minister unto the bleeding world, be present in places of suffering, witness the struggles of the oppressed, speak truth to the oppressors, protect the most vulnerable, love until you are tired of loving, then love some more.

Branches of trees in the distance  appear softer than those close at hand and long-ago traumas tend to grow less harsh and prickly over time, but now and then everything closes in  and you become lost in the darkest,  densest forest that you thought  you would never see or feel again.

From Sunday to Monday, there was a 40 degree drop in high temperatures as we continued a pattern of instability in the weather and in everything else in our world—or perhaps it’s more of a lack of a pattern which we keep trying to see but cannot quite pull into focus. And so it is we spend our days fumbling about, sightless and often hopeless and bewildered. Just as a vision emerges, the view from the ground is obscured.

While there are no longer  saber-toothed tigers or  giant hyenas or  short-faced bears  hunting humans,  my brain still senses  danger everywhere. I scan my surroundings  from left to right and see: houseplants, a window curtain,  a tapestry on the wall; I press palms together  and press feet into floor and count to five; I breathe  in through my nose for four beats, hold for four,  breathe out  through my mouth for six; and here I am,  anchor dropped,  present and safe.

Let us pause for a time of stillness to consider our experience of Spring. Spring is a time of emerging and opening: plants and flowers emerge from the ground and open to sunshine and rain. Animals emerge from hibernation, opening their senses to a season of growth. And *we* emerge from our coats and blankets, opening our hearts and minds to new possibilities Let pause now for a moment of silence as we consider what we might be emerging from and what we might be opening to. May the light of spring open our senses to what is happening within and around us. May the warmth of spring open our hearts to caring and compassion. And may the hope of spring open our deepest selves to healing, wholeness, and transformation. Amen!

This morning’s sky is a blank slate, or more like a grayish gouache, over which we may layer paint in colors of our choosing, creating our own version of the day, dull or brilliant, plain or ornate, abstract or figurative, working with what is.

There will be  other Marches  and more Madness, but this year’s  first-round loss  still sharply stings.

Through the window I see a robin on a tree branch much like James Wright’s robin, but, rather than jumping up and down, it remains perfectly still for a full 10 seconds before swooping down to the ground and rooting for worms and bugs in the thawing ground. The branch did not break,  nor will the damp earth.

Scraping the car windows yesterday seemed like an Augean undertaking as rain had fallen before temperatures dropped precipitously, forming ice, on top of which six inches of snow fell, creating the perfect storm of scraping.

The lion of March decided to come in, not at the beginning or end of the month, but right smack dab in the middle, leaving snow in its wake on the heads of leprechauns  shivering in their hiding spots, looking for gold.

Drops of rain cling to the window as the weather starts to change from strangely warm to colder, and March advances, crooked step after crooked step, weaving, jigging, big dancing toward whatever April might bring.

Let us pause to be present to this moment,  to this place, to one another, such that the Spirit of Life might be felt among us. Let us pause for a moment to sense, together, stirrings of compassion and the emerging shape of justice. Let us pause for a moment of silence to experience just this, just now. May we create space in our lives  from which something new might emerge— some new perspective, some new way of understanding, some renewed sense of meaning and purpose. And in this space, may we find healing and wholeness, now and always, Amen!

Winds blew so hard our chimney whistled as trees and power lines fell to the ground, and our dog sought refuge in the windowless laundry room until the whole thing all blew over. But today the sky is blue and all is strangely calm. Only a storm can make things seem so peaceful.

Imagine how the psalms must have sounded those thousands of years ago when they were wildly ecstatic new expressions of God’s kingdom breaking through into our world and we were open to it!

After the rain, the wind shifted and cold air swept through, creating this cool Spring day with heavy cover of clouds and trees moving with breeze.

While there may be  expressions of theology  in psalms, their purpose is not to point to the divine but to invite us  to participate in it.

In these hard times,  each of us has a role  to play: to care for  the fearful and oppressed, to advocate for the downtrodden  and forgotten, to live into our best  and most loving selves, knowing that justice  and compassion  will prevail.

I have decided to blame all of my problems on the yearly scourge of Daylight Saving Time, which has once again disrupted my sense of feeling at home in time and space somehow. In this way, I cannot possibly be held accountable for any mistakes I make between now and November. Or maybe I’ll just grind through it like always.

What is the sound of freedom at a time when freedoms are being limited and curtailed? What is the sound of justice at a time when justice and accountability are scorned? What is the sound of compassion and caring when the roar of fear and anger is all around? Let us take a moment of hushed silence to listen for the sound of freedom, the sound of justice, the sound of that which calls us toward compassion and love. May we pause throughout the course of our lives for moments of hushed silence from which there might emerge the commitment to act in solidarity with all who suffer, all who are oppressed, all who yearn for justice in unjust times. Amen!

Suddenly spring, suddenly sunny, suddenly warm as June in March as birds twitter and sing a song giving thanks for waking up all at once after winter’s long dream of snow and ice and scraping of sidewalks and car windows, and deep freeze turned suddenly spring.

Leaves are just beginning to push through on branches of the big tree in the neighbors'  back yard, as morning sun beams brightly this early March morn, so maybe something is breaking through, is changing at long last.

Don’t tell the rain to go away, at least not yet, I think I need a friend today, and rain can cool the heated head and heart and heal the bruised and broken places harmed by war and hate and all the misdeeds done by those whose only thoughts are not of rain but merely unchecked power run amok.

Gray skies seem so far away sometimes and other times oppressively close as tones and shades of gray vary greatly from charcoal to taupe, but the sky is always right there the way consciousness is, the way some say God might be, the way pain and scars are always there, sometimes more brown or black than gray, receding or intensifying, or just hovering—in sight but not always seen.

To care for the bruised and bleeding beautiful world is to have your heart broken over and over again in ways big and small such that you must become skilled at stitching pieces  of your cardio-emotional self together, using whatever scraps of thread or dabs of glues that might be at hand until you have created something both lovely and absurd that beats with the pulse of love, of love, of love.