Living Mosaic
Worship
Posted by: Whose Are We, by Monica L. Cummings
Whose Are We?
our parents and partners
our siblings
our children
our pets
Whose Are We?
our neighbors
our friends
our co-workers
our congregations
Whose Are We?
the powerful and the powerless
those who suffer and
those who cause the suffering
Whose Are We?
the 6 generations that have passed
the 6 generations yet to come
the great cloud of witness
Whose Are We?
Whose Are We?
Whose Are We Not?
By Monica L. Cummings
Poetry – Can’t Tell, by Nellie Wong
Can’t Tell
When World War II was declared
on the morning radio,
we glued our ears, widened our eys,
Our bodies shivered.
A voice said
Japan was the enemy,
Pearl Harbor a shambles
and in our grocery store
in Berkeley, we were suspended
next to the meat market
where voices hummed,
valises, pots and pans packed,
no more hot dogs, baloney,
pork kidneys.
We children huddled on wooden planks
and my parents whispered:
We are Chinese, we are Chinese.
Safety pins anchored,
our loins ached.
Shortly our Japanese neighbors vanished
and my parents continued to whisper:
We are Chinese, we are Chinese.
We wore black arm bands,
put up a sign
in bold letter.
By Nellie Wong,
from Encounters: poems about race, ethnicity and identity
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Poetry, April 2011, This I Mourn: A Lamentation for Osama bin Laden, by Gregory Boyd
Poetry, April 2011
“This I Mourn: A Lamentation for Osama bin Laden” by Gregory Boyd.
One fewer soul on Spaceship Earth,
Our Father’s Mother feels the dearth.
We are wholly imperfect:
perfectly incomplete.
This, I mourn with each passing hour,
A violent end to brutal power.
Yet, I know what I believe—
We are wholly imperfect:
perfectly incomplete.
Who is my neighbor?
Did he ask?
Love your neighbor.
Not my task
Smote my neighbor.
Who now basks?
This, I mourn with each passing hour,
A violent end to brutal power.
Yet, I know what I believe—
We are wholly imperfect:
perfectly incomplete.
Did he hunger?
Does he feast?
Sought he victory?
Through defeat?
This, I mourn with each passing hour,
A violent end to brutal power.
Yet, I know what I believe—
We are wholly imperfect:
perfectly incomplete.
Buddha says, “Forsake desire.”
Would that I were as a spire,
Thrusting up toward Heaven above
Penetrating the God of love,
Sharp to pierce Holy Empire.
Where is my neighbor?
Who is your God?
Who is my neighbor?
Where is your God?
Bountiful blessings:
The prayers we sow.
Militant aggressing:
Onward we go.
This, I mourn with each passing hour,
A violent end to brutal power.
Yet, I know what I believe—
We are wholly imperfect:
perfectly incomplete.
To know peace,
To know relief,
To rest in peace,
Without grief;
Thus, to decease.
To know no more,
What you abhor;
Eternal sleep,
Sojourn complete:
Life is defeat.
This, I mourn with each passing hour,
A violent end to brutal power.
Yet, I know what I believe—
We are wholly imperfect:
perfectly incomplete;
Wantonly unpredictable,
We lamenting beasts.
By Gregory Boyd
Posted by: Poetry, March 2011, Bi-lingual, Bi-cultural, by Pat Mora
Bi-lingual, Bi-cultural,
able to slip from “How’s life?”
to “Me’stan volviendo loca,”
able to sit in a paneled office
drafting memos in smooth English,
able to order in fluent Spanish
at a Mexican restaurant,
American but hyphenated,
viewed by Anglos as perhaps exotic,
perhaps inferior, definitely different,
viewed by Mexicans as alien,
(their eyes say, “You may speak
Spanish but you’re not like me”)
an American to Mexicans
a Mexican to Americans
a handy token
sliding back and forth
between the fringes of both worlds
by smiling
by masking the discomfort
of being pre-judged
Bi-laterally.
by Pat Mora
from the book, encounters: poems about race, ethnicity and identity
• If you like this poem or want to submit a poem for this section, please leave a comment.
Poetry, November 2010, soul lost, by Lehna Huie
soul lost
spirit found
all at the cost of my being
bound by presentation
ideas of equality
handed to me on a silver platter
tempting
soul lost
spirit found
all for the healing of my being
free to navigate the trails of my history
hope for justice
embedded in my heart
light the wick
searching
soul lost
spirit found
all for the truth of my being
silenced by performers
lifted by the crowd
take a bow
take a stand
clap
soul lost spirit found all for the love in my being
birds of a flock always stick together
survival of the fittest
let us fly
-Lehna Huie
Community Prayer
Closing Words
As we leave this sacred space of fellowship and go our different ways this afternoon, go with more love than you came with. Go with more peace than you came with. Go with more compassion than you came with.
Pause throughout the week and remember you are a part of the interconnected web of life.
Don’t forget to bless a stranger with a smile. Tell the people in your life how much they mean to you. And take a moment each day beginning today, to say thank you for all that you have.
May all who want to set out on a personal search for answers to the most profound questions of life feel empowered to do so. May all who want to awaken to who they really are, feel empowered to do so. May all who want to journey from confusion to meaning feel empowered to do so. May all who want to feel connected to their original source do the work to make it so.
May you live your beliefs and feel at one with everyone and everything.
Blessing upon you,
Blessings upon me,
Blessings upon every living thing,
Blessed Be.
Rev. Dr. Monica L. Cumming
- If you use or find this prayer helpful please leave a comment.
Poetry, September/October 2010, by Nikki Giovanni
The Rain
Spring rains are my favorite
they help the flowers grow
Winter rain makes good ice cream
because it’s really snow
Traveling seeds ride windy rains
Thirsty trees scrape windowpanes
Autumn rains make all leaves change
from green to burnished reds
Soft rains wash our tears away
and rainbows warm our beds.
– Nikki Giovanni
Community Prayers
Spirit of Life, of decay and sustenance, of leaf mould and loam, of death and rebirth,
I find strength in your touch upon my soul, your gift of beauty, breaking bud and rising sap.
I am restored by the peace, the stillness, the possibility that comes with rebirth, the moment of potential that promises Life.
May I live to give birth to the promise, to raise it up, to grow it strong and grow it wise–and may I be able to offer it to us all.
– The Rev. Adam Robersmith
March 2010
If you use or find this prayer helpful please leave a comment.
Poetry, SACRED, BUT NOT LEGAL, by Rev. Susan Manker-Seale
SACRED, BUT NOT LEGAL
By Rev. Susan Manker-Seale, Spring, 2010
To the People of the State of Arizona (and Beyond):
My daughter is getting married
In a ceremony sacred, but not legal,
And instead of the minister, I’ll be the proud mother
Holding the hand of my husband of thirty years
As we welcome a new daughter, not in-law,
But in-love.
They will have to be brave,
Joining the ranks of the oppressed,
Where they’ve already been
In so many ways,
But their love is strong, and beautiful,
And perhaps, in time,
the people of our state will finally see that,
And grant them rights as parents and partners,
In spite of the spite that’s still spewed from the silver-tongued.
Oh! You pastors who blaspheme by preaching bigotry!
Who take advantage of people’s desire for a privileged place!
Must there always be a scapegoat?
Can’t you see the history of oppression,
The slow uncovering of our eyes
and unstopping of our ears?
People, don’t sit like sheep in the pews, unquestioning!
It is shameful when the oppressed become the oppressors,
And you have all been there in one way or another,
One end or the other.
This morning I woke up, and realized one part,
At least, that I have played, and now,
After twenty-two years of performing weddings
Here in our beloved state,
I refuse to be the hand of one more injustice,
And will no longer sign marriage licenses,
In protest.
Arizona is turning one hundred,
And those years have left a trail of emancipation,
People turning over and rising up,
Demanding to be seen and respected
Through race, gender, culture, ability.
But still, the fight goes on for those whose love
Is not confined to social norms
and ancient, misguided religious precepts.
There is a lot more love in the Bible, in holy texts,
Than many have been led to believe.
Let’s all open our eyes and ears,
But especially, let us open our hearts,
For love truly is the most important thing!
And no matter that some will still preach to the contrary,
I know when I’m in the presence of a sacred love.
My two daughters’ marriage will be blessed!
And, believe me, as we take one more step out of bigotry,
One day, it will be legal!
– By Rev. Susan Manker-Seale
Minister, Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Northwest Tucson
www.standingonthesideoflove.org
Spring, 2010
• If you like this poem or want to submit a poem for this section, please leave a comment.