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Poems on Ministry

by Silvia Purdie
A prayer for those in ministry

​Ihu Karaiti, Lord of all,
to you be all glory and praise, 
from us your people and all the hosts of heaven.
We love you because you came to us before we came to you,
welcomed us and drew us into your arms of tender care.
Thank you for your manaaki. 
Give us your heart to care for those you send us to love.

Lord Jesus, you made nga mea katoa,
all things, seen and unseen, things from nga ra o mua
and the freshness of each new day
We name you Kaitiaki of our past, our present and our future,
and all those we carry with us.

Ihu Karaiti, crucified and risen one,
as you were released from the tomb,
so, we pray, release us from Te Ao Pouri,
receive our loss and heal our grief 
that we may live in the light and shine your light.

Lord Jesus, you are always interceeding for us to the Father,
teach us how to pray
and inspire our karakia with your Spirit
so that together with you we may minister to the hurting.

Ihu Karaiti, Kaikaranga, you have called us and we thank you.
Raise up your people, we pray,
call forth leaders and ministers of your Gospel
who will honour you and speak your word
and minister to your people in this land.

E te Matua, e te Tama, e te Wairua Tapu,
to you be all glory and praise
from us and all people, ake ake ake. Amine.

Gaps in the wall
(on ministry and God and identity)
 
I cannot imagine who I would have been
if I had not been drawn to the gaps in the wall
between this world and eternity
 
The biggest gaps are the littlest things
a smile of a toddler, the feel of a petal
a small square of bread in my hand
 
A fantail flies through and its wings brush my arm
I hold out a stick and it lands for a while
it chirps at me and is gone
 
I stand at the front of a room full of people
around them I lay a drawstring of gold
(with words not my own though the voice is mine)
that borrows my heart and my mind
 
I stand at the front with the flowers and casket
a woman is dead and her family hurts
I say the old words and I lift up my hands
at the edge of the gap and I push her on through
 
I open the book and a guide is waiting
(not always, but often) to lead me in
he links it together and opens up questions
and burrows my heart and my mind
 
I come to the silence, I warm to the light
the energy bubbles like jets in a spa
I carry it with me, this crack in time
 

​Psalm 64: Protect my life and my ministry
​

God, hear the voice of my complaint!
Protect my life and my ministry from fear of attack.
Hide me from scheming critics
and hallway mutterers
who sharpen their tongues like bullets
and shoot like snipers from out of the blue.
They feed the complaints of others
and hide behind smiles and righteous indignation.
God, expose the voice of their complaining!
Turn their tongues against them,
trip them up on their schemes.
Show us the work that you will do
so we understand what you have done.
The rightous rejoice in the Lord and take refuge in him
the upright in heart praise you, O Lord.


​Crack me open again, 
why don't you, Lord - 
chisel down deep, why not -
chip away my crust of pride again
work the heart wood
with hammer and fire
Toss the shavings into the blaze
let them catch alight and rise
and fall, glow and char.
The Swallowed Sword
 
I fell
into the Fall
ground cut and dug
with tears and blisters
earth and heart
wounded and held open
weeping wound
pain sustained
painful toil
sweat and tears
dust to dust
cursed is the ground
a flaming sword
to block the way
to the tree of life
 
From beginning to end
then till whenever
turn turn turn again
through swords and swords
and nails on a beaten tree
until there He stands
flaming among the flames
eyes flashing fire
and he reaches into his mouth
and pulls out the sword
the very same sword
that once barred the way to life
He pulls it out from his throat
out from his mouth
a razor sharp word of power
brandished
held high
then laid aside
and his eyes flashed
and his face shone
brighter than the sun brilliant
then as I lay as dead
he bent over me
effortlessly juggling stars
placed his hand on me
and the words of power were
Do not be afraid!
I am the First and the Last
I am the Living One
alive for ever and ever!
Write therefore
See. Look, and write!
What has been
what is now
and what is yet to come
But wait there’s more!
See. Look, take note
write what you have seen
write what is now
write what will happen
Pay attention!
for the sword was swallowed
death was swallowed up in
life
pain burned away by
brilliance
 
Revelations 1:10-19

5 poems from a hard place             Silvia Purdie, June 2019
On the edge of extinction
 
I suppose I’m a bit of a dinosaur
end of an era
last of the line
keeping company with a few old relics
old hymns, old liturgy
huddling in buildings from another age.
 
I am trained for a job rapidly ceasing to exist,
equiped for a project that hardly anyone
my age or younger
cares much about.
 
Do I?
care, that is.
I caretake these treasures
but who will inherit them?
 
I guess I knew when I began
doomed from the start
set up to fail
this way of being church
left high and dry
a quaint remnant of the way things were
 
Parish ministry is so last century!
 

Gratitude
 
When I go looking for how to cope better
I can’t get far without bumping into gratitude.
Complaining gets boring pretty quick.
Gratitude leads me further.
 
Thank you for right now, for this breath
Thank you for a cup of tea and sun through the window
Thank you for the people who love me
Thank you for the things I find easy.
 
Thank you for sending Jesus,
when you didn’t have to bother.
Thank you for making all this beauty
- I am so sorry we’ve stuffed it up.
Thank you for your Spirit who is closer than close.
 
Thank you for what I know of your glory.
Thank you for troubles, even though I don’t welcome them.
Thank you for endurance, for pulling me through.
Thank you for character; I just want to be like you.
 
Thank you for hope, for “hope does not disappoint us,
because God’s love has been poured into our hearts
through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”
Romans 5:5
​

Hits
 
I’m bruised, Lord, battle weary.
I can still feel every hit
every harsh word
every angry glance.
I can still feel every ache,
every polite rejection
every absence when I hoped they would come.
 
I’m pretty good at bouncing back
re-inflating each time
trying again
But
give me a break!
give it a rest!
Can’t things just go well this week
and everyone be OK??

​
Honesty
 
A man once asked me, as we stood in line waiting for tea,
‘What is counselling, really?’
I had an answer, though I hadn’t found it until that moment:
Honesty.
The therapeutic process is being honest with yourself,
and the counsellor is there to help and to witness.
 
Mostly we don’t make room for honesty.
 
‘Keep calm and carry on’ is our motto
which is all fine and good as far as it goes
but when it is perched on non-honesty
it gets harder and harder to keep up.
 
Me, I need silence and solitude to find what is true.
 
The TV and the internet fill every corner with everything else.
Meetings and emails keep us too busy
and honesty is too dangerous.
In conversations we only want a tiny slice of truth,
well packaged for ease of consumption.
 
People who really do want to hear what is real
are rare as hen’s teeth.
I want to be one.
I want to be honest, with myself and my God,
and to help other people find what is true.
Picture
Total Submission
 
In the Our Lady of the Trinity Monastery in Leithfield
(how does that even work, ‘Our Lady of the Trinity’? 
Is she part of the Trinity? Does she birth the Trinity 
or belong to it? I don’t quite get it)

the Sisters pray every morning
an Act of Consecration:
 
In the presence of all the heavenly court
I choose you this day, for my Mother and Queen;
I deliver and consecrate to you, 
in total submission and love,
my body and soul,
my goods, both interior and exterior
and even the value of my good actions
past, present and future;
leaving you the entire and full right of disposing of me
and all that belongs to me,
without exception,
according to your good pleasure,
for the greater glory of God
in time and in eternity.
Amen.
 

Written by St Louis-Marie Grignon de Montford.
I guess it flowed a little better in the French,
but the power of it is there.
 
If I prayed this to ‘my Father and King’
it would be more biblical
(more protestant at least)
but the act of commitment would be the same.
Me, I could say this to Christ my Lord, no problem.
​
I’m not sure I need the heavenly court watching on,
but hey they’re welcome.
 
I’m intrigued by the idea of interior and exterior goods;
what is ‘all that belongs to me’?
Does my property belong to me? It’s co-owned with my husband, not mine to give away.
My heart and my body is also co-owned with him.
Then there’s the kids of course, they have a big share of me and my goods.
As for my ministry, that belongs to the Presbytery,
the parish is not mine.
 
I can divvy up and share myself out all day long
and miss out on the good pleasure of God.
But if I started the day here,
in total submission and love,
how would it turn out, I wonder?

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Written by Silvia Purdie 

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