A Season of Healing

Photo and text by Joe Grant © 2021

That evening they brought many demon-possessed people
and with a word he cast out spirits, curing all of illness,
thus fulfilling the prophet’s vision of one who
took on our infirmities and bore our disease.

Matthew 8:16-17

Seeker,
Who in your life is crying out to be heeded, held, and healed?

To erect a barrier,
or construct a divide
takes the effort of just one side.

But building a bridge will always require
foundations of trust
that both sides desire.

All who work with prophetic purpose
must avoid the twin entrapments;
corrosive cynicism and coercive self-righteousness.

Desire for retribution,
no matter how justified its claim,
unleashes diabolical profanities of blame and shame.

Conceding our commonalities,
receding to white-black boundaries,
steals space for understanding, depletes oxygen for dialogue.

To deny any possibility of restoration
only reinforces divisive systems that fail
to acknowledge complicity, and reverence connection and care.

The greatest and most important problems of life are all in a certain sense insoluble…
They can never be solved, but only outgrown…

Carl Gustav Jung

Where might we sow the seeds of relationship,
to sprout and surprise us with listening hearts,
sheaves of shared sorrows, and the salve of outstretched hands?

The trajectory of Spirit, like radiant sunshine,
thrusts fearlessly outward into the dark void,
reaching for communion, wholeness, generous inclusion.

But we cannot envision what we do not see,
we will not heed what we cannot hear,
till we hone the healing arts of love.

Companioning
Lean close to listen
until heartbeats harmonize
and spirit song rhymes.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Radical resolution lies
in looking harder, listening longer,
with hearts attuned to woe and wonder.

To outgrow the confines
of all we think we know,
we must plow the furrows of longing and loss.

Those willing to live
and love with abandon,
will surely know the sting of alienation.

Boundary Breaker
Lives are hemmed by lines.
“Thou shalt not cross!” say the signs,
crossings lead to fines.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

For we cannot splice spirituality
from humanity’s deepest cravings
and darkest inclinations.

As you embrace these days with contemplative care,
may you feel, in your bones, hurts and hungers
you can never fully understand.

Even as you savor sweet unanimity,
may you recoil at the bitterness
of discrimination and isolation.

Liberated to lovingly listen,
may your eyes widen to every unfreedom;
slavery, addiction, exploitation.

We begin
the new habit, getting up glad
for a thousand years of healing.

Susa Silvermarie

May your yearning for peace of heart
illumine the failures of war
and daily desecrations of violence.

Longing to belong, may your hospital home
welcome fellow pilgrims guised as foreigners,
migrants, exiles without refuge or shelter.

May this thankful season inoculate you
with the warmth of humble great-fullness,
leaving room at your table for the surprise of healing.

joe

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
Now available here.

Joe Grant is a seer and a sayer, a prophet and a poet. He divines the divine in the everyday stuff of life and speaks the essential truth that every place can be a thin place, every time Kairos time. Scratchings is Joe at his alliterative best, offering us a beautiful sacramental vision in which Spirit weaves us into a great, timeless community with each other and with the more-than-human world. This quiet, gentle, but powerful book is absolutely necessary medicine for our troubled times.

  • Kyle Kramer, Executive Director of the Passionist Earth & Spirit Center,
    author of Making Room: Soul-Deep Satisfaction Through Simple Living
    (Franciscan Media, 2021)

Wake Up and Wonder

Photo and text by Joe Grant © 2021

God’s Realm is like
someone who scatters seed on the ground.
Night and day while
the sower sleeps and rises,
the seed sprouts and grows,
but just how, no-one knows.

Mark 4:26

(A version of this reflection was posted in 2018)

Seeker,
What will awaken you to the hidden wonders of this day?

If you are fortunate
to wake up warmly
under soft, clean sheets,

conjure the sun-drenched cotton,
gathered and washed, dyed and woven, stitched
where nimble fingers and sweat come cheaply.

For there are others
who emerge after a noisy night under a bypass,
wreathed in cardboard, nestled in newspaper.

That rumble of natural gas or electrical hum
fueled by Nature’s captured treasure,
releases long-coveted sunlight from primeval forests.

Consider those once-green hilltops,
clear-cut, gouged and blasted-bare,
and the communities reliant on this predatory production.

In order that we might live, stars in their millions,
tens of millions, hundreds of millions even, have died.
The iron in our blood, the calcium in our bones,
the oxygen that fills our lungs each time we take a breath
– all were cooked in the furnaces of stars
which expired long before the Earth was born.

Marcus Chown

Stepping into a steaming shower,
you are refreshed by waters redirected,
piped, purified and warmed,

mindful that clean water
still remains beyond the reach of millions,
who daily trek to standpipes, creeks and waterholes.

Now clad in underwear crafted in Bangladesh,
denim from Nicaragua, leather molded in Malaysia;
your body is swathed in the weary work of the world.

Cradling your steaming, morning brew,
from beans or leaves harvested in Sri Lanka or Guatemala,
you sip from a mug fired in a Chinese factory.

You smear your breakfast bread,
baked in a far-flung city,
with summer fruits, gathered from fields unknown.

And, savoring the rush of sweetness,
you reflect on other hungers unabated,
for warmth, food, friendship, and dignity.

Before even stepping outside, to inhale
the morning freshness with canticles of birdsong,
already you are gift-wrapped in a wonderfully wounded world.

While you slumbered, multitudes of unseen hands
worked land, shifted boxes, mined minerals,
to manufacture the material of your morning,

while good Earth relinquished
bounty of soil and rolling rivers
all to make each passing moment possible.

Radiance enlightens every morning
with the ageless interplay
of matter and energy, mixed with travail and tragedy.

To the awakened,
every sunrise is a first
brilliant blush of brand-new creation,
each frigid breath suspended, a
sacramental exhalation in
conspiration of
spirit holy.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Spidery filaments
of mystery, misery, and magnificence
entwine, to entangle us all in daily communion.

This tracery of holy connection revealed by dewdrops,
shimmering breezes and sparkling sunlight,
along with the frantic flapping of life, trapped in tragedy.

When next you step into the web of morning,
wearing the world and wondering about the Source,
may you be grateful for each momentary connection.

Antidotes
For the bored, wonder.
For the cynic, gratefulness.
For the prideful, awe.

Joe Grant, Scratchings

Only those who know
how blessed they are
can be blessing to others.

joe

Text and images by Joe Grant © 2021 All Rights Reserved

Visit my website: inthestormstill.com
A BOOK BY JOE GRANT

Coming Soon

SCRATCHINGS, Poems & More

By Joe Grant