tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11807708493763771302024-03-20T20:57:19.228-07:00Worship LiturgiesGustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-29071467025028000672011-10-21T04:18:00.000-07:002011-10-21T04:18:51.293-07:00<b>Psalm 39: Silence is Dyspeptic</b><br />
<br />
I kept quiet because I knew,<br />
Because I knew they would not hear.<br />
They never asked for my advice,<br />
And I chose not to wound their pride.<br />
<br />
But silence is more than a choice.<br />
I tried to keep the peace but lost,<br />
Not just the winning argument,<br />
But the silence of my silence.<br />
<br />
I only regained quietude<br />
When I spoke up for what was right.<br />
<br />
10/4/11Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-46121182687854233422009-11-16T06:08:00.000-08:002009-11-16T10:27:07.408-08:00<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KJLle-FMHyk&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KJLle-FMHyk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />Psalm 22 is an extremely dramatic psalm. It shifts from exultant praise to dejection without transition. It ends—or resolves—with the enigmatic last line: For he has done it. Done what? Accomplished what? Finished what? Speaking of God’s ultimate salvation the psalm says He has done it.<br /><br />We know that Jesus wrestled with this psalm from the cross. He quoted it in despair, My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? We know that the apostle John used it to understand the Lord’s death. He quoted it to explain the soldiers’ decision to not tear up his outer clothes. He explains that it happened that way—So that Scripture would be fulfilled.<br /><br />I’ve become convinced that the words of this psalm are like a thought-map for the last moments of Jesus’ life. At the very fulcrum point of redemption the Lord was praying this psalm. It’s as though we have to think the dying of God’s anointed Son to understand what is accomplished in God’s righteousness. It’s almost as though Jesus himself had to experience it to understand this enigmatic line—He has done it; it is finished.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-42578927750652145072009-09-20T08:43:00.000-07:002009-09-20T08:44:24.359-07:00<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MbwUIgLylLY&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MbwUIgLylLY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-58785095147723135632009-08-18T17:22:00.001-07:002009-08-18T17:22:36.734-07:00Psalm 17<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TymI-mSk2dQ&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TymI-mSk2dQ&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-43667140815594408762009-07-17T05:19:00.000-07:002009-07-17T05:23:26.004-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Psalm CXXXI: Prayer, like weaning</span><br /><br />My eyes used to flash toward you,<br />Like lightning across a hilltop,<br />Searching out the highest objects,<br />Grazing for a point of interest.<br /><br />But it's been a long dry spell now,<br />And thunder rolls--tickling--down dry<br />River beds in distant valleys,<br />Off the lip of my horizon.<br /><br />But I am content, and lift peaceful<br />Meadows up to the golden sun.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-84995612472112141292009-07-16T19:00:00.000-07:002009-07-16T19:05:29.568-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Psalm CXXXVII: If I forget you, O Jerusalem</span><br /><br />Our marriage is a memory<br />Of joy. The festival day of<br />Music, food and loud singing is<br />Recalled in hurried meals and sex.<br /><br />Music is a strategy, a<br />Technology for inducing<br />The feeling it once reflected.<br />In lieu of passion we sing songs.<br /><br />May we never forget the chords<br />Of love--the techniques of caring.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-21793483848247035532009-07-12T22:34:00.000-07:002009-07-12T22:37:15.015-07:00<strong>Psalm 130: Friendly Distance</strong><br /><br /><em>...with you there is forgiveness;</em><br /><em>therefore you are feared.</em><br /><br />I am terrified every time<br />We get together. It can be<br />Years in between, and there is a<br />Lot of water under that bridge.<br /><br />I don't fear that you will have changed.<br />And I know that my changes will<br />Be accepted with sincere grace.<br />I trust the time between our lives.<br /><br />What I fear is your love--without<br />The friendly distance of facades.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-19481347794550190682009-06-20T07:49:00.001-07:002009-07-12T22:40:43.026-07:00<strong>Psalm 109: Betrayal<br /></strong><br />You would see them playing on the shore together as kids, and you couldn’t tell. But Peter was always the underbelly of the crowd his age. His gullibility was a byword, and he laughed at all the jokes directed at him. It was like his enthusiasm and friendliness were a standing invitation for derision.<br /><br />And kids are cruel. They didn’t talk to Peter, but through him. Worse than the way they talked about him as though he wasn’t there was the way they didn’t countenance him at all. His warmth and camaraderie were met with mute scoffs. They would shake their heads and laugh, as though he were a joke that didn’t need a punch line.<br /><br />But you he always worshiped. He could never take his own betrayal seriously, but when they turned on you too—he put off scorn like a winter coat. He became like a conscience to the thoughtless, closer to them than the words of their own prayers.<br /><br />O God, do not remain silent.<br />Lying tongues have surrounded me.<br />They repay my friendship with hate.<br />Friends have broken my broken heart.<br /><br />With time, my best friend has taken<br />Hatred to himself like a coat,<br />And it has seeped into his heart<br />Like water. He has become dark.<br /><br />Surround him with his own hatred,<br />As close to him as his own prayer.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-31093870660218392382009-05-11T17:33:00.000-07:002009-05-11T17:34:28.783-07:00<strong>Psalm Sonnet 72: Justice Like the Sun</strong><br /><br />Save the king, O God, and save us.<br /> Give grace to the queen and to us.<br />Make just laws and we will be just.<br /> Be praised and we all will prosper.<br /><br />The troubled put their hope in you.<br /> The nations pay you interest.<br />The hills full of grain bow to you.<br /> The sun rises and sets with you.<br /><br />The king does well when his blessing<br />Is the name of the Lord our God.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-66558853780987972822009-05-10T06:32:00.000-07:002009-05-10T06:33:04.469-07:00<strong>Psalm Sonnet 15: The Law of the Other<br /></strong><br /><em>—for Mandi Els</em><br /><br />To live with myself I would have<br />To pay double on every debt,<br />But charge no interest on my loans.<br />I would have to live by a law<br /><br />That could never be exacted<br />Because it is too exacting.<br />To put into code the command<br />That troubles every conscience:<br /><br />Live by the law of the Other,<br />The neighbour who’s judge and victim.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-44334250523525888992009-04-01T18:23:00.001-07:002009-04-01T18:28:48.988-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 32: Songs of Deliverance</strong><br /></em><br />When we were kids, all of the best<br />Hiding places were stifling hot.<br />Keeping quiet was a full-body<br />Exercise in suffocation.<br /><br />Even your skin crawled with a pulse<br />To the tunes of deliverance<br />Songs—which the best at juvenile-<br />Espionage knew how not-to-sing.<br /><br />Hide me now—in the open. Let<br />Silence be a gathering deed.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-5294615595023907072009-03-26T06:38:00.000-07:002009-03-26T06:39:21.753-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 26: I Speak in Praise</strong></em><br /><br />From the first word of the morning<br />There is an epicentre, an<br />Orientation—a place that<br />Calls and directs my attention.<br /><br />I live from out of an altar,<br />A place of sacrifice—out from<br />A word that reveals and conceals.<br />Neither thought nor experience—<br /><br />I speak in praise: from out of a<br />Glory, wondrous to begin with.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-37599908817935052212009-03-23T05:31:00.001-07:002009-03-23T05:35:49.988-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw55V4Js2o-FwWiEpeEKdHLeUCmbzpJD2qO-OQeTjqtJmr5ZNKMxsJ5ET7ixawMpjr5T-hROdyoyiPfGvv15O7Ub6bNvlUiys9X4bb6emlI3s37_DgElE-eX_TRYBDLBzE7YAE6kFwKwA/s1600-h/sower.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316360129460499666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 136px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 90px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw55V4Js2o-FwWiEpeEKdHLeUCmbzpJD2qO-OQeTjqtJmr5ZNKMxsJ5ET7ixawMpjr5T-hROdyoyiPfGvv15O7Ub6bNvlUiys9X4bb6emlI3s37_DgElE-eX_TRYBDLBzE7YAE6kFwKwA/s320/sower.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw55V4Js2o-FwWiEpeEKdHLeUCmbzpJD2qO-OQeTjqtJmr5ZNKMxsJ5ET7ixawMpjr5T-hROdyoyiPfGvv15O7Ub6bNvlUiys9X4bb6emlI3s37_DgElE-eX_TRYBDLBzE7YAE6kFwKwA/s1600-h/sower.jpg"></a><br /><br /><strong><em>Mark 4</em></strong><br /><br />I am not a backyard garden;<br />I am a goat path few can tra-<br />verse—and none would think<br />to cultivate. But there is One<br />who often comes by, just because<br />he can. And sometimes<br /><br />He walks the whole length of me.<br />Sometimes he is like a breeze,<br />sweeping up my spine; sometimes<br />he sits like summer air—dead.<br /><br />But when he walks he scatters<br />seed from a little pouch he carries<br />under his arm. And it is wonderful seed.<br />He scatters it everywhere he goes.<br /><br />Sometimes it surprises you how much<br />comes up in places you wouldn’t expect.<br />All along my unwelcoming path<br />there are patches of lush, growing grain.<br /><br />And then sparse, dead patches<br />where nothing has caught—or else,<br />very little. It’s very slow work this,<br />because the way this garden works<br /><br />Is the growth and decay of these little<br />plant roots. They bind up the soil,<br />and then loosen it like mulch<br />when they die—so that<br /><br />Gradually, over time, the<br />areas of good soil expand<br />and the way through my life<br />becomes more pleasant and navigable.<br /><br />I am becoming a garden<br />you would want to visit—<br />if just to see for yourself<br />the miracle of this seed.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-67758091364072592222008-12-16T05:41:00.000-08:002009-03-23T05:43:49.097-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 75. Praying Out Loud<br /></strong></em><br />When I first spoke in praise of you<br />It was in other tongues--borrowed<br />From liturgies I had long heard.<br />Your name gently caressed my lips<br /><br />Since it had often kissed my ears.<br />When I first spoke your name out loud<br />It felt strange--a tender violence,<br />A meek misappropriation<br /><br />--to use the name so often heard<br />--to speak out loud my inmost prayer.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-75804585925993770962008-12-02T05:45:00.000-08:002009-03-23T05:46:19.102-07:00<strong><em>Psalm Sonnet 61. Joy so Scared</em></strong><br /><br />Bless him! Tommy always quivered.<br />He’d stand there at the back of the<br />Chapel isle, and the acolyte<br />Vestments would veritably bounce.<br /><br />His hands would tremble so that he<br />Would drop things you might think he couldn’t.<br />Words fell from recitations, like<br />Burnt match sticks under unlit candles.<br /><br />You wouldn’t believe joy so scared<br />—Till you saw his dad in the pew.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-67800433787300110332008-06-12T06:13:00.000-07:002009-03-23T06:16:07.448-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 9: The Triumph of Men</strong></em><br /><br />You can't see me from the road,<br />But the pick-up sitting cross-wise<br />In front of the gate suggests that<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Someone's</span> in the graveyard, wrestling<br /><br />With demons. Why do we come here<br />To fill holes we dig for ourselves?<br />Why do we return to the dead<br />Long-since <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">buried</span>? Why won't we heal?<br /><br />Only an incursion of grace<br />Can overcome the death of men.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-49423501428582688852008-06-05T06:11:00.000-07:002009-03-23T06:13:21.739-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 8: Heavenly Beings</strong></em><br /><br />Somehow, when our children were first<br />Born, our selfishness was silenced,<br />Engulfed in craving their beauty.<br />Their skin was a glory above<br /><br />The heavens, and the stars only<br />Constellations of their features.<br />The ego was put in its place<br />To receive these <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lithe</span> little gifts.<br /><br />To be an angel, caring<br />For the care of the creator.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-89483074949706529032008-06-04T06:08:00.000-07:002009-03-23T06:11:06.540-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 7: Sword and Shield</strong></em><br /><br />If I do not relent, come back<br />To you from the fight, your anger<br />Is a deadly weapon that kills<br />What you meant to cultivate.<br /><br />Our love keeps our love by acts of<br />Violence--everyday acts of<br />Violence that preserve what is<br />Good and lifegiving in our love.<br /><br />Sword and shield, our love is a death<br />We cannot go on living without.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-31880254447500176252008-06-02T06:06:00.000-07:002009-03-23T06:08:47.181-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 6: Tired Eyes can't See</strong></em><br /><br />I get several nights' sleep to<br />Your one: head on the desk when I<br />Can't read anymore; on the couch<br />Before I admit my defeat;<br /><br />Then in the spare room so I can<br />Sleep w<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ith</span> the light on; then, lastly,<br />In our bed when morning has come.<br />How much more rested I should be.<br /><br />But, instead, even my bones hurt;<br />My soul aches and my eyes burn--tired.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-77584679348847604652008-05-31T06:03:00.000-07:002009-03-23T06:06:03.494-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 5: A <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Resilient</span> Hope</strong></em><br /><br />Prairie grasses boil in swirling<br />Winds that buffet <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">obstinate</span> strands<br />Together into tufts, waiving like<br />Offerings to an angry god.<br /><br />But surrounding the old farm house,<br />Beaten foot-paths still straighten the<br />Distance from the door to the well,<br />And around the empty <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">corals</span>.<br /><br />What expectation will have led<br />Our grandmother to early chores?Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-49812744935627663522008-05-29T05:59:00.000-07:002009-03-23T06:02:00.444-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 4: Expecting You to be There</strong></em><br /><br />Come to bed, lover. I can't sleep<br />Without you. The warm relief from<br />Your body has left, and there's no<br />Answer to my arm when I turn,<br /><br />Expecting that you will be there.<br />Not to talk. Not to love. But come<br />To lie down next to me and sleep.<br />There's a space only you can fill.<br /><br />I'm only silent and at rest<br />When, should I speak, you would hear me.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-90356514369684220732008-05-28T05:56:00.000-07:002009-03-23T05:59:31.123-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 3: Quivering Lips</strong></em><br /><br />Too much of the time, I talk with<br />Our distance ringing in my ears.<br />As though our houses were over<br />A stiff hill from one another.<br /><br />The round of the horizon wafts<br />Our words out to the atmosphere.<br />A kind of weightless inertia<br />Makes me expect you will not hear.<br /><br />But today you reached me. The quake<br />In your voice gave away your earGustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-18004923649981309222008-05-26T05:53:00.000-07:002009-03-23T05:55:57.754-07:00<strong><em>Psalm Sonnet 2: Music for My King</em></strong><br /><br />When I was younger, I suppose<br />It may be, that the "rippling brook"<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Chorded</span> with the music in me.<br />But anymore I like the sound<br /><br />Of landscape waterfalls--because<br />It quiets the evil spirit<br />Of the Lord in me. Listen hard<br />Enough to inane chatter and<br /><br />I can just-not hear my child scoff<br />As my ridiculous posture.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-24627835181283593572008-05-24T05:50:00.000-07:002009-03-23T05:53:06.320-07:00<em><strong>Psalm Sonnet 1: My Nervous Praise</strong></em><br /><br />Root lines twisting down over rocks<br />Look like strands of telephone wire<br />Running hundreds of miles away<br />To the river. The bank is steep.<br /><br />And the trunk corrected a bit,<br />Righting itself toward the sun.<br />Years of flooding and wind have gouged<br />Away the rocks underneath it.<br /><br />The tree gives thanks for the river,<br />But worries if the bank will hold.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1180770849376377130.post-28187774566340749722007-03-30T21:01:00.000-07:002007-03-30T21:03:41.624-07:00I've just written this song for the beginning of our series on hope. On April 10th we'll be looking at Psalm 139, so I've been reflecting on it. I'm trying to figure out loading a video clip on YouTube (I've just never done it before, so I haven't figured it all out yet) so you can hear it, but here are the lyrics:<br /><br /><strong>Psalm cxxxix</strong><br /><br />Where would I have to go<br />To run away from you?<br />And what would I have to do<br />To make you turn away?<br />If my goodness soars up to the skies,<br />You’re already there.<br />And if my sins follow me to the grave,<br />You’re already there.<br />When I dream, I find you<br />And when I wake, I’m still with you.<br />If I leave behind all that I know<br />What if find is you<br />And if I stay in this holy place<br />I’ll never stop finding you.Gustafson Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18269415292406298886noreply@blogger.com0