Saturday, July 25, 2015

Shabbat Morning

I went with my family to services this morning for my Grandfather Harry's yahrtzeit.  There were two prayers I found most moving:

For the expanding grandeur of Creation,
worlds known and unknown, galaxies beyond galaxies,
filling us with awe and challenging out imaginations,
We acknowledge You with thanks.

For this fragile planet earth, its times and tides,
its sunsets and seasons,
We acknowledge You with thanks.

For the joy of human life, its wonders and surprises,
its hopes and achievements,
We acknowledge You with thanks.

For human community, our common past and future hope,
our oneness transcending all separation, our capacity to work
for peace and justice in the midst of hostility and oppression,
We acknowledge You with thanks.

For high hopes and noble causes, for faith without fanaticism
for understanding our views are not shared,
We acknowledge You with thanks.

For all who have labored and suffered for a fairer world,
who have lived so that others might live in dignity and freedom,
We acknowledge You with thanks.

For human liberties and sacred rites:
for opportunities to change and grow, to affirm and choose,
We acknowledge You with thanks.

We pray that we may live not by our fears but by our hopes,
not by our words but by our deeds.

Blessed are You, Adonai, Your Name is Goodness, and You are worthy of thanksgiving.

And the other I found at the front of the prayer book:

Tell them I'm struggling to sing with angels
who hint at it in black words printed on old paper gold-edged by time.
Tell them I wrestle the mirror every morning.
Tell them I sit here invisible in space;
nose running, coffee cold & bitter.
Tell them I tell them everything
& everything is never enough.

Tell them I'm davening & voices rise up from within to startle children.
Tell them I walk off into the woods to sing.
Tell them I sing loudest next to waterfalls.
Tell them the books get fewer, words go deeper
some take months to get thru.
Tell them there are moments when it's all perfect;
above & below it's perfect,
even in moments in between where sparks in space
(terrible, beautiful sparks in space)
are merely metaphors for the void between
one pore & another.

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