Thursday, December 22, 2005

Prayer for Priests

We give thanks for those
Who have answered your call to serve,
Who have heard the voice calling out in the night,
And answered, “Here I am, Lord,”
Your priests who have left so much that we take for granted behind
As they answer the call to come follow you.
Be with them this day, Lord,
Each and every one,
Young and old,
Doubting and certain,
Tired and eager.
May we who rely so much on their willingness to serve
Never take them for granted,
But instead give them the support they need,
In action, word and deed,
As they give us their support,
Their time,
Their willingness to be tools in your hands,
Sharing your grace,
Your willingness to help the penitant,
Your mercy.
Let us look with gratitude at their sacrifices,
And help us follow their example
To follow you,
Even when the cost is high.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Mother of priests,
Pray for these your sons,
Now, in their day to day work,
In the dark of their nights,
And at the hour of their deaths, Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2005

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

O Holy Spirit,
Open our eyes if we try to use you
as an excuse to do what we want,
instead of doing the will of the Father.
Instead, O Spirit,
let the fire of your love
ignite in us a hunger for the truth,
a hunger to live in the light of Jesus,
and to walk in his steps,
this day, and always,

Susan E. Stone, 2005

Tuesday, December 20, 2005


Little babe,
this night your head rests on borrowed hay,
no place of your own,
no welcome from the learned
and pious,
the rich or powerful,
no room in the inn,
no room in the heart,

Tonight, the angels sing of Heaven's joy,
not to the kings and nobles,
men of power and means and might,
but to the shepherds,
outcasts in the fields,

O Beloved child,
darling of your mother,
miracle of God,
how soon the night will come
when your head, cold and abused,
lies in a borrowed tomb,
no place of your own,
rejected by the learned
and the pious,
brought to death's door by the powerful,
those with no room in their hearts
for your truth,
for your light,
they think you extinguished.

That morning to come,
Heaven will sing
as death's doors are shattered,
and you will smile first
not on the kings and the leaders,
the rich and powerful,
but the outcasts,
the woman who wailed
in her loss,
the disciple who turned his back in fear,
unloved by the world,

O the foolishness of God,
So much wiser than the world,
caught in the cry of a child,
the empty tomb,
the unloved now beloved,
the ignored remembered,
the untrusted transformed forever.

Susan E. Stone, 2005

Monday, December 19, 2005

Meditation on Isaiah 52:7-10 

How beautiful on the mountains
are the feet of him who brings good news,
publishing the glad tidings of peace,
announcing the word of salvation,
who says to Zion,
Your God reigns!

God's story,
Love's story,
how the rejected Lover
reclaimed his bride,
how the willful child
found a loving Father
in spite of his actions
how the contrite found hope,
how the sinful, redemption,
the brokenhearted, healing.

See how the guardians
in their watchtowers
call out the news -
joy unbounded
in the songs that angels sang
to the outcasts with their flocks,
to the poorest of the poor,
how God himself
came to rescue them,
be one with them,
sleeping in a stable,
refusing the palace.

The Lord,
the Lover,
the King,
baring his arms in the glory of his might,
the amazement of his birth,
the wonder of his death,
the splendor of his ressurection,
and to all the ends of the earth,
he proclaims his salvation

O sing forth,
this story of Love,
how the Lover stretched out his arms,
embracing the world,
down to the darkness of death,
shattering its gates
to bring forth
unutterable joy.

Susan E. Stone, 2005

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Sunday, December 18, 2005

Mary's Son 

Perfect little baby,
Mary's little son,
lying in her loving arms
While Joseph looks on,
The joy of his mother,
God's only son,
and the heavens sing out their song
while shepherds look on.

Wondrous young man,
Mary's little son,
sitting in the temple
while the teachers looked on.
Frightened was his mother
for God's only son,
Feeling how the sword would feel
As she searched on.

Battered was his body,
Mary's precious son
as they pulled him off the cross
as soldiers looked on.
The sorrow of his mother
for God's only son
when they laid him in her lap
so hard to look on.

Empty was the tomb
Gone was Mary's son
when the stone was rolled away
as soldiers ran on.
The joy of his mother
for God's only son
Still echos in that empty tomb
As Heaven sings on.

Susan E. Stone, 2005

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