Each October for several years now, right around the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, I pick the wild grapes that grow along our fence. I turn them into juice that is then used as our communion juice at Burning Bush Forest Church (and will be used at Wilmot Forest Church, too). It is a practice of gratitude, and a gift of grace, to have juice that comes from the "wild." I did not plant these grapes, and they are definitely not a cultivated variety. I rarely prune them, but every October they offer enough small little clusters to put away juice for worship. Below is my ode to wild grapes!
Wild Grapes I open the door to the wide, wild, world; crisp October air washes my face, fresh and surprising, awakening me to this day. Wild vines sprawl along an urban fence line; who planted them - human? bird? - no one knows. Through summer months tendrils stretched and grasped for the sun, reaching further and further, claiming new territory each day. Once vibrant green leaves alive with purpose now a yellowing and limp tangle. I move slowly, methodically, along the row, the vines playing a game of hide and seek with their tiny deep purple clusters. Hands stained, fingers numb, bowl filled, ample left behind for other foragers, my heart offers thanks for this small harvest, grateful for this miracle, this gift of the earth. My mind jumps ahead to jars of jewel-hued liquid that will be poured out in worship, poured out as an act of love for all. The wild Christ, present in the elements, juice and bread; in light, earth, water, and wind, in rituals that transform us and unite us with all that was and is and ever shall be. - Wendy Janzen, 2019
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A poem for Easter Sunday
Up from the ash, where once fire raged leaving scorched black earth, rise magenta-topped stems, lithe and delicate, bowing in the wind then standing tall again, laughing in the face of death. Fireweed saviour, you pave the way, flourishing on disturbed earth, bringing life again where once death reigned. A miracle of grace riding on silky-haired seeds carried by the wind to landscapes in need of salvation. Easter Jesus, you germinate seeds of new life in the burned and baren places in our world, and in the brokenness of our lives, growing beauty, hope, and love on delicate stems rising up from the ash. Wendy Janzen, 2019 April is national poetry month. I have to say that the emergency of spring does inspire me to write poetry. Here are a few haiku's I've written for spring.
O glorious spring! Bulbs break through warming earth and welcome the light. The Divine Presence comes like gentle spring showers that water the earth. Small beauty, springtime: sun, birdsong, feathery moss. Senses awaken. Listen to winter giving over to springtime bringing forth new life. Snowdrops, pushing up through brown grass in early spring announcing rebirth. Wendy Janzen |
AuthorReflections, poetry, prayers, photos, and resources written by Wendy Janzen unless otherwise noted. Archives
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