Dear First U Friends,
A few weeks ago I came across a prayerful poem, or maybe it’s more of a poetic prayer, by Phyllis Cole-Dai. It’s called “On My 58th Birthday: 58 Pandemic Prayers.” She wrote it in March 2020. (Remember March 2020?)
On first read, I admit, I glazed over a bit. Every few lines, though, a string of words popped out at me: A proverb I wanted to uphold, a hope I wanted to ensure, a way forward I wanted to take. I copied and pasted the poem into my ever expanding file named “Maybe Good for Church” with the thought that I might return to it down the line.
I ended up returning to this poem/prayer this past Tuesday evening; choosing it as the reading I would share at the start of the meeting. Only thing was, it was too long for me to read in its entirety, I needed to cut it down to 10-15 lines. But which ones to keep and which to let go?
It was this halving and quartering process that got me to really read this poem. Each line of it.
And choosing 15 or so lines (ok, I ended up only getting down to 21...) actually proved to be quite a prayerful process in and of itself. Which lines mattered most this past Tuesday night? Which ones did we need to hear? Which ones did I need to say?
I invite you to explore such an activity today. Which 10-21 lines of this poem are your lines to share and read, to hold and give today? What about just choosing 3? Or even, just 1? Which would it be today?
“On My 58th Birthday: 58 Pandemic Prayers”
By Phyllis Cole-Dai
May we all survive to another birthday.
May we greet the sun each morning and rejoice in being alive.
May we breathe the miracle of fresh air.
May we honor every moment as a chance to begin anew.
May we root our faith in richer soil than worry.
May we let separation knit us close.
May we see faces besides our own in the mirror.
May we recognize all people as kin.
May we cherish them as much as ourselves.
May we stay home to keep them safe.
May we nurture the body that houses our soul.
May we have adequate shelter, food, water, medicine, and rest.
May we share freely from our abundance.
May we resist the temptation to hoard.
May we ask for help without hesitation or shame.
May we draw comfort from the company of animals, flowers, and trees.
May we befriend the sounds of silence.
May we welcome the intimacies of solitude.
May we dive to the depths of our being and bring up blessings we didn’t know we had.
May we be sanctuary for one another.
May we refuse to dwell in the blindness of denial, indifference, or contempt.
May we tame our temper and carry no grudge.
May we empathize even with those we dislike.
May we gift one another with radical attention.
May we listen to one another as if lives depend on it.
May we speak as if our voice will be the last sound ever heard.
May we explore how to touch without touching, how to hold without holding.
May we not be embarrassed by tears and trembling.
May we learn from our children the joy of unstructured time and the solace of routines.
May we reassure our children about the monsters beneath their beds.
May we create new rituals of togetherness.
May we laugh from our bellies.
May we cultivate wonder.
May we help our society to do better than it has done.
May we examine problems from all angles and talk straight as lines.
May we base decisions on collective wisdom rather than contagious fear.
May we invest our trust in those who are experts, not those who pretend.
May we value health over wealth.
May we dedicate our daily work both to those we love and to the common good.
May we sustain those workers whose invisible labor sustains us all.
May we protect those who put themselves at risk to protect us.
May we transform the impossible into the doable.
May we inquire into the welfare of strangers.
May we stand up for those who are scapegoated and targeted by hate.
May we sing porch to porch until all the world is our neighbor.
May we drop expectations of how hard or long this road will be.
May we pace ourselves as we go.
May we each shoulder more of the load so that nobody stumbles beneath it.
May we prepare ourselves for the unknown.
May we follow the light of our brightest prayers.
May we live together into better versions of ourselves.
May we plant the seeds of a new world in what remains of the old one.
May we remember in the dark hours that we’re not alone.
May we let no one die forsaken, in pain, or untouched by kindness.
May we grieve the lost, though we cannot gather.
May we do right by their memory.
May we not waste a minute of the precious time they should have had.
May we love one another as we would be loved.
May our children survive us all.
Yours in peace, friendship, poems, and prayers,
Rev. Hillary
