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PSALM 67 - Thoughts, Reflections, and Ideas On, or Relating To, PSALM 67

 

David Farley
California-Pacific Conference United Methodist Church
Director of Justice and Compassion Ministries

For those who work on the land, for those who plant the seed,
For those who work with their hands to bring us the food we need
Thanks be to God and blessings on all who labor.
Thanks be to God and justice for all our neighbors.
This is my prayer.

 

Saint Isidore the Farmer
Garden Blessings Chaplet 

 Father and Divine Creator, we thank You for the example of St. Isidore the Farmer and ask for Your blessing on our crops and labor, as we walk humbly in his footsteps and toil in our gardens and fields. Instill in us the virtues of patience and industry, so that in the evening of life we may yield an abundant harvest of good works and worthy sacrifice. We ask this through Christ, Your Son and Our Lord. Amen.

 Carl Jung

(artwork-
Downwards As Well, 1972
by Sr. Corita Kent)

 
No noble, well grown tree ever disowned its dark roots, for it grows
not only upwards but downwards as well.
 
Downwards As Well, 1972    Downwards As Well, 1972

 

David Gill
Art-Nonsense
and other Essays
 
Though not every man is called to the life of religion, every man is called to love of God and every man is called to give love to the work of his hands; every man is called to be an artist.

 

Wendell Berry
The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture
 
 
The soil is the great connector of lives, the source and destination of all. It is the healer and restorer and resurrector, by which disease passes into health, age into youth, death into life. Without proper care for it we can have no community, because without proper care for it we can have no life.

 

Richard Rohr,
Art and Poetry,
September 30, 2015
 
As long as humans have existed, it seems that we've turned to art to express the inexpressible. Mircea Eliade (1907-1986), Romanian historian of religion, writes that "sacred art seeks to represent the invisible by means of the visible. . . . Even in archaic and 'folk' cultures, lacking any philosophical system and vocabulary, the function of sacred art was the same: it translated religious experience and a metaphysical conception of the world and of human existence into a concrete, representational form. This translation was not considered wholly the work of man: the divinity also participated by revealing himself to man and allowing himself to be perceived in form or figure."

PSALM 67 represents to me something of what this description points to, a revelation of something deeper. The abundance of the harvest touches something in me.
-Br. Igantius Sudol, O.H.

 

Leave This
Rabindranath Tagore,
1861-1941
 

Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!

He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, and his garment is covered with dust. Put off thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil!

Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found? Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he is bound with us all for ever.

Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense! What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained? Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.

 

A Prayer Before Nature
Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, 1772-1810

Calligraphy by John August Swanson

 

 

A Turkish Muslim woman
describes her
prayer ritual
(salat)

Calligraphy by John August Swanson

 

 

Wandering
Hermann Hesse,
1877-1962
 

"Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.”

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.”

 

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