Genesis 1:1-2:4aPsalm 8

In the beginning there was light.
As the first flash of light danced at creation,
and the gravid Earth burst into song, 
as it was formed,
Elizabeth and Mary danced
and rejoiced, so too
the dance of Trinity, mothering and brooding over
all three, all three.

Who are we
that God would invite us into the dance?
Who are we
that our lowliness would be swept aside
by the Mighty One
who nourishes the hungry
and cradles the fallen sparrow?

The heavens are telling
that love–
the shy or tentative or bold assent
to the pull of attraction
in either astrophysics or the mystery of God–
holds all together,
disparate bodies treasured, precious
regardless of difference.

So we look up at the blue skies
looking back down at us like the bluest eye,
and so we look at the smallest ant–
all wonders, wonders all, setting us wondering–
lovingly, tenderly made by God’s very fingers.
Each flares out with the divine afterglow of creation
that burns within each heart,
and sets aglow this star-shaped phlox,
echoing that first flash of love
from when this world
was but a thought.

[adrotate group="3"]
[adrotate group="4"]
[adrotate group="7"]

All content ©2022 by the Episcopal Journal & Cafe

The Episcopal Journal is a 501 (c) 3 corporation. Contributions are tax deductible.

Website design and management  by J T Quanbeck.