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Category: Christmas

Christmas

Book of Life

Posted on December 22, 2022 by stephen t berg / 16 Comments

  You step out into the mauve-dark morning and God is there, in a thick quilt of snow.It’s hard to name the calm: a few lights in porches, some chimney smoke, b...

Christmas

Christmas Carols — It’s Complicated

Posted on December 22, 2020 by stephen t berg / 14 Comments

In a Mideast manger a baby’s silence is so intense as to shimmer a star and spur celestial-gazing Magi into loading up their camels and tripping for two yearsto...

Christmas/Grace/Grief/Resiliance

If I write you a poem for Christmas

Posted on December 12, 2019 by stephen t berg / 18 Comments

If I write you a poem for Christmasit will have dragonflies and lilies and something made with barn-board. That’s because I’ve consulted a close friend of...

Christmas/Life/Peace

Jesus was born in Saskatchewan

Posted on December 19, 2018 by stephen t berg / 16 Comments

Jesus was born in Saskatchewan, that is, in what is now known as Saskatchewan, about 60 km west of Wynyard near the ghost town of Amulet, which is on the tradit...

Over the coming months, I’ll be slowly retiring Grow Mercy. This Easter marks 20 years and some 1500 posts. (And here, a deep bow to you, for reading and/or responding.) I’ll not, however, be retiring the impulse behind Grow Mercy, but will be shifting, exploring, following a hybridized urge, and a genre to suit. For me, what these decades have increasingly revealed is how writing is a spiritual path. Now, for whatever time and energy remains for me, I’ll be tilting more toward The Ragged Psalmist, still inchoate, but the handle feels like it fits. I do hope you’ll subscribe.

Why — The Ragged Psalmist?

Because some stubborn ember, still warm, compels me to write some cobbled songs — praise and lament, cries and sighs — and sound them back to the sacred Mystery.

To throw a wrench into a world geared up for business; to resist the moneychangers in their corporate temples — because poetry is political, and light is its administrative wing.

Because old lies and old words screw us over and must be remade to tell the truth; because our glossary of mockery needs burial, and the lexicon that’s left needs anointing.

To strive to honour the life of a sparrow; attend the spell of a dead star — whose light we still see; to feel, down to the bone, the quantum foam, we all flail in.

To thicken compassion and thin out aggression; to oppose injustice and hate in a way that excludes no one, not even the hater.

To let failure, discouragement, suffering and perishing have their say, without any spoon of bromide; to let joy, delight, and beauty come as they may.

To penetrate darkness and delusion — and so discover all this love in us.

Because mindfulness and mercy need constant oxygen.

Because in the time that’s left I want to tattoo the implications of our “forgiving victim” on the body suit of my heart.

Because reality points to unity — and we must hurry to catch up.

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