Miscellaneous offerings

Return to the liturgy library here or visit our poetics library here.

Serenity remix

Grant me the serenity to accept myself as I am,
to refuse to be at war with my own flesh,
to tend to my needs, my pain, my fears,
gently and without judgment.

Grant me the courage to receive
the accountability of others
that supports my unlearning of dominance,
encourages me towards healing,
and challenges me to deepen
my practice of love.

Grant me the wisdom to know the difference
between invitations to learn
and reasons to self-loath;
between the posture of perfectionism
and the labors of freedom and transformation;
between the entrapments of guilt and shame
and the joy of doing things differently.

In all things, lure me in the ways of liberation,
collective and intimate.

M Jade Kaiser

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when the tears come

When the tears come,
hold out your hands.
Like the last leaves
quivering on empty branches,
finally accepting
the closure of a season,
let them fall
and softly
onto your palms.
Receive them as an offering.
In praise of your strength.
In honor of your tenderness.
In forgiveness of your regrets.
In acceptance of loss.
You will find God
praying with you.
They’ll light a candle for every tear.
They’ll place a flower on your hands like an altar.
They’ll chant softly to the tune of your weeping.
No words are needed for this kind of worship.
When the heart gets a moment to catch its breath
and pain is released like a long slow exhale
the Sacred draws close
to hear the testimony.
of your grief.

M Jade Kaiser

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Walker over waters

Walker over the waters…would you come and walk alongside me?
As you did in those before days, catching a beloved friend sinking…
would you come and catch me as I sink?
Knowing my faith can’t possibly be contingent upon myself.
Knowing that the storms of life overwhelm me regularly.
Daily even.
In a moment, I acknowledge You being able to say “Peace be still.”
To the winds and waves. To the core of my soul.
Yes, I pray to you Walker over the waters.
Walk with me now please. Even if you have to carry me.

Robert Monson

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Strange One

Holy One,
your Strange ways,
they astound us.

Among the mighty, your Wisdom is called foolish.
While others assert their power with force,
Yours unfolds like an invitation.
You never resort to weapons.
You turn from all paths of domination.
Beauty and truth are your means of persuasion.
Freedom is your promise.

While empire shouts false promises of security,
using fear to turn us against each other,
You whisper things of vulnerability,
of meals at table and sharing what we have,
of solidarity and new life.

When you, the Sacred, took on flesh,
You sought neither thrones nor prestige,
but made your friends among the outcast.
Sex workers.
The imprisoned.
The hungry and the ill.
The fed up and the weary.

Though you were presented with every opportunity
to seek importance among the elite,
to the end, you choose the edges,
making your home among the vulnerable,
living in solidarity with the criminalized and despised.

Abandoning the promises of conformity,
we hope to be strange like you.
Strangers to all that normalizes evil,
to power that corrupts,
to practices that demean or neglect.

Make us faithful to the peculiar calling of Christ.
Unafraid to bear the names of the despised.
Firmly planted in the confidence of your Holy Mystery –
the strange love that calls us to fight with and for each other,
and awakens us to the joy you set before us.

– m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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And remember the trees

Breathe in your inherent belovedness.
Breathe out the lure of toxic cycles.

Breathe in love that makes your heart soft.
Breathe out any anger that is being misdirected.

Breathe in acceptance that all cannot be immediately solved.
Breathe out the need to control.

Breathe in the wisdom of ancestors who labored for collective love and justice.
Breathe out the temptation towards the superficial.

Breathe in a breath of humility.
Breathe out all that makes you shrink.

And then remember the trees.
Their giving and receiving of breath.
See them holding so much for us.
Offer a confession. And a prayer of gratitude.
And let your roots sink deep into the soil of God.

– m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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Where we still find each other (in death)

God of love, God of peace,
Come and comfort all who are grieving.
Weep with those in sorrow.
Gather round the circles of remembrance.
Hear the choirs of gratitude,
and make Holy all that pours from broken hearts.

May your eternal embrace,
your forever love,
your Divine Presence that is before death,
companions through death,
and rises after death,
be the resting place –
the place of return –
where we can always find each other.

– M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

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God is like a movement

God is like a movement.
Love, growing.
Rowdy with aspiration.
Adapting and creating
in the directions of liberation.

Using beauty to inspire –
painting dreams across creation.

Feeding the bread of life to all who hunger for justice.

Weary, but alive with hope.
Fueled with tears,
and grit,
and memories of saints past,
going nose to nose with evil,
planted firmly in truth.

Arrests and threats.
Slander and shame.

It is Sacred Labor,
but laughter too.

Whatever you have to bring is enough.
Loaves and fishes are made into feasts.

Can you hear the invitation?
It extends to all who desire freedom.

  • m jade kaiser

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For the morning

God of fresh starts,
of new beginnings,
of renewal and restoration,
We awake to your grace,
embraced by love unconditional.
With each morning
You birth new possibilities
in us; around us.
We are surrounded by Sacred potential.
There are so many ways to love.
May we rise to the day’s call
To listen for the aches
To give voice to the beauty
To be a companion to justice.

  • m jade kaiser

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Grieving takes time

*There is no one way to grieve. Despite any cues that might try to convince us that it is time to move on or that our grief “shouldn’t be that deep”, grief comes to us in many ways and at many times. Sometimes like a gentle caress and at other times like a torrential downpour. How we choose to mark time in these cycles of grief are sacred, beautiful, holy. Consider this ritual for when the waves of grief come to you.

In my grief I recognize that something was cut off.
Something precious.
An expectation, a desire, a job, a loved one
There is a chasm between where I am now
And the object of my affection.
I acknowledge this with my whole heart
Knowing that I can be honest here
Transparent here.
Loved here.

*If this helps you to accompany the ritual, please consider doing something related to cultivating living. I buy flowers regularly as something to help connect myself to the present and to beauty. When I attend to my flowers I know that I am rooted here in the present. When I touch the petals of the plants it helps me to acknowledge the grief that I am experiencing even as I experience beauty.

– Robert Monson

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choosing abortion

God is not a judge who sits at a distance
shaking “His” finger at us
about divine rules and regulations.

God is within.
Like a whisper.
Like a question.
Like a knowing and a rising.

God lures us towards each other. Towards collective flourishing. Towards power growing from the margins. Towards our roots deep in the earth. God pulls us in every direction that serves love and life.

Sometimes that direction is abortion.

When a woman
or a trans man
or a nonbinary person with a uterus
becomes pregnant
and must decide how best
to foster life:
Their own,
and that of their family,
and that of this earth breaking under our burdens,
God knows, for many, there are such few “choices”
available in this
(cis)sexist system.

The God of the fringes,
the impoverished,
the oppressed,
every form of coercion
and every act of control
over the bodies of those
who ask all the right questions
of life and autonomy and futures and collective well-being
under all the wrong systems
that abandon and judge and isolate and weigh down.

Let us not grow weary in claiming our power,
in professing and practicing our solidarity,
in sharing our resources,
and refusing to abide by the laws
of any govt or god that shames, threatens, or criminalizes
the right to do what is best for one’s self and family.

– Rev. M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

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When it’s time to leave

For individuals:

Justice entices me.
Truth calls for me.
I strive to follow where the Spirit leads.
When doubt arises, I hold onto these truths.

I have searched my heart in discernment.
I have listened for love’s demands.
Wisdom has revealed it is a time for parting.
No longer can I stay.

I know leaving can be a holy thing.
Like an exodus.
Or a new seed planted.
There is hope in living out my conviction.
A release in letting go.

I acknowledge, too, the sorrow present.
What was once a place of belonging,
now, a home no-longer mine.
I feel the loss.
I remember the gifts I received.
I grieve over all that might have been.

Gently, these feelings intertwine. A multiplicity of truths mingle.
I carry them with me – the sweet and the sharp.
And I turn my attention to new beginnings,
searching out spaces where love can grow unencumbered.

God bless my parting.
God send me with courage.
God lead me in the ways of liberation.

For communities

Enticed by justice, called by truth,
where the Spirit leads, we strive to follow.

In discernment, we have searched our hearts.
We have listened for love’s demands.
Wisdom has revealed it is a time for parting.
No longer can we stay.

We know leaving can be a holy thing.
Like an exodus.
Or a new seed planted.
A chance for new life to grow.
We feel the hope of living our conviction.
We feel the release of letting go.

We acknowledge, too, the sorrow present.
What was once a place of belonging.
Now, a home no longer ours.
We feel the losses, as we remember the gifts we received.
We grieve over all that might have been.

Gently, these feelings intertwine. A multiplicity of truths mingle.
We carry them with us. The sweet and the sharp.
And we turn our attention to new beginnings.
Creating spaces where love can grow unencumbered.

God bless our parting.
God send us with courage.
God lead us in the ways of liberation.

– m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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On power and forgiveness:

Forgiveness can be a holy, righteous, healing thing.
But so many dominant theologies have mucked it up for us.
Gotten in our heads and our hearts and turned it into something that hurts.
A weapon that upholds power in families. In communities. In culture and government.
The forgiveness-talk that many of us have inherited
says there’s no such thing as structural power.
That it does not threaten nor silence.
That it does not weave everything intimate and personal into a larger story of us.
That it does not play-out over and over again
through patterns and practices predictable.
At that table of reconciliation,
the facts about
legacies of violence,
structures of inequality,
ongoing norms that harm and destroy
are not even welcome in the room.
Whether it’s sexual harassment or anti-Black violence,
anti-queer, anti-trans, or other white supremacist harm,
inaccessibility or colonialism still unfolding,
before we even round the corner of honesty about what happened and why,
our conversations are stopped in their tracks,
turned around on us,
until somehow the conditions that enabled the harm in the first place
are declared a fresh start,
a new beginning,
even though we have been there a million times.
This story of forgiveness is a lie
that has stolen something beautiful.
Unless patterns and norms are disrupted…
Unless amends are practiced materially…
Unless the truth is given space in its fullness…
Unless power is redistributed…
Unless there are protections put in place to prevent further harm…
It’s too soon for talk of forgiveness or reconciliation.
And using God to suggest otherwise,
to manipulate or control,
to guilt or to gaslight,
to keep real healing,
real hope,
real possibilities from emerging
through the hard, hard work of change that restores
is spiritual violence,
theological malpractice,
a tool of the state in the arms of the church.
Whatever forgiveness is,
it’s not that.
It’s never that.

– m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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A prayer for the days there is only sadness

Gentle Presence,
Patient Listener,
Holy Holder of it all,
My prayer is this:
I am so sad.

It’s not an ask.
It’s not a confession.

It’s an offering.
The only one I have today.

I’m praying it with hope.
I know grief is a lifeline –
tethering me to the world that should be.
The one worth fighting for.

As a practice of faith,
I will not deaden these feelings
that let me know all is not well.
I will not adjust to cruelty or disregard for life,
detaching myself from humanity – mine or others.
I will not allow once imaginable scenarios
to be turned into everyday losses
that no longer pierce my soul.

And so here are my tears,
And here is my tired body,
And here is my foggy, distracted mind
bearing witness to the place within
that aches for the ones I love,
for friends and strangers,
for everyone being pushed into impossible situations.

My sadness is a testimony.
It is not my only one.

Tomorrow, hope or fight or curiosity
will bear their truth,
and pull me back into the labors I love,
in the company of others.

But today the only riot in me is this sorrow,
refusing to quiet your cry from within:

“We are made for so much better than this.”


– m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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Prayer for receiving accountability with openness

Spirit of Truth,
all that has shaped me –
my experiences of joy and pain, both
are held in your embrace with care.
I take comfort that you know what is in my heart.
You meet me in my intentions, and nurture what is good.
You take delight in my desire to be generous and kind.

But where there is love-within,
striving to become an outward expression,
and still doing harm nonetheless,
come with your gentle correction.

When the limitations of my knowledge and experience
inevitably mean I do wrong even when I strive to do right –
using words that sting or pronouns that misgender,
unknowingly living in complicity with systems that hurt my neighbors,
or otherwise furthering power dynamics that demean –
when others care enough to hold me accountable and believe I can do better,
may I be less interested in defending myself
and more in learning a new lesson of love.
May I be most concerned with the impact of my actions on others – listening, reflecting, and changing course.

May I not linger too long in wallowing or guilt, nor expect those I harm to tend my discomfort.
Guide my discernment in what I need to hold or let go.

If I feel insecure, may I remember what is true:
We all mess up. A lot.
Correction is an act of love.
Evil has taught us so many lies we must unlearn.
We need each other – for this work of collective liberation.

At each day’s end, may I rest in the knowledge that I am loved, I am valuable, and my persistence in showing-up to the needs of the world with humility, courage, and conviction will be made fruitful in you.


– m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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in the trees

In the trees, God, you linger.
With branches like arms outstretched in prayer, they invite, they host, they bear witness, they create.
Generations come and go,
but still they remain with such knowing, such history, such wisdom in their flesh.
The Holy in them, as it often does,
requires a disruption of ordinary ways of perceiving,
or else it goes unnoticed.
Through their testimonies
you teach us about growing in every direction,
about becoming sources of home,
about resilience and resurrection and beauty across stages of life.
You – the trees – both sources of our life-breath.
Make us fierce protectors of these sage companions
and the sacred flesh of all the earth. amen.

-m jade kaiser

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for the lips of prophets

For those weary of sharing their pain.
For those who speak but are not heard.
For those whose stories began centuries ago.
For those whose testimonies are deemed a false witness.
For those who have nowhere to turn for rest.
For those who refuse to be silenced.
For those who whisper tenderly and knowingly to their kin.
For those who shout a holy protest to their oppressors.
For those who wonder if there’s any point.
For those who cannot keep truth to themselves.
For those who wail for all that has been lost.
For those who sing for all that we might become.
For those who call others to rise.
For those whose voice reaches out like open arms for the hurting.

May they be nourished in body in soul.
May they be guided in wisdom.
May community uphold them.
Through the lips of prophets your Kindom draws near.

  • m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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for the needs of each one

May the weary find a soft place to rest.
May the privileged and protected escalate acts of solidarity.
May the courageous grow in multitudes.
May the creatives invite us into the truths we need to feel.
May the fruit of righteous labors satisfy.
May the lonely find comfort in the night.
May the migrating be welcomed with hospitality.
May the complicit repent.
May the fearful keep showing up, keep wrestling, keep taking steps.
May the seeking be found by the Sacred they long for.
May the unjust powerful step-down or be taken down.
May the mourning not be rushed to heal.
May the caretakers have their cups refilled.
May the Holy One within each of us rise, rise, rise.
  • m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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Spring Emergence

Spirit of Spring Emergence,
your glory rises from winter’s gentle remnants.
Tender shoots of green grass reach upward through leaves still in decay.
Squirrels untuck from their nests and tip-toe across soils damp with melted snow.
As the light of day rises and begins to stretch, birdsong calls life to wake.
May all who wonder and worry before lands still slumbering
know yours is a trustworthy hope.
Even in the restless seasons of quiet persistent grief,
hovering like a winter darkness whose work it seems will never end,
you are the whispered promise,
humble and patient,
of what is carefully held and hidden in the depths
just waiting for its right time
to buzz, bustle, and blossom us to life again.

– m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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soft enough

i pray we may remain soft enough to grieve
and hold space too for the rage
rage mixed with grief
and exhaustion
and fear
screaming and weeping
and rising up and digging deep
and holding close, holding close
all that matters most
these precious lives

-rev. anna blaedel

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to the God who dwells in darkness

*Despite much thought and imagery around darkness being evil and something to be ashamed of, human testimony and sacred texts point to a God who is able to be with us in the dark. Consider this prayer that dances around the themes of Psalm 139.

Where can I go that You don’t inhabit?
Does the dark intimidate you?
Are You afraid of the dark as I often am?
Do the shadowy places cause You to take pause and carefully consider
Whether You will help me, support me, and guide me?

The words of the psalmist come to my mind as I remember that
“Indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You, But the night shines as the day;
The darkness and the light are both alike to you.” (Ps. 139:12)
I remember that the dark and the light mingle together for You and
That they are surely terrain that you can cross through.

On the night days, when grief, depression, anxiety weigh me down
Or the lonely days that pierce my soul
I pray to the God that creates in the dark
That moves in the dark
That can play in the dark
That can surely find me in the dark places
At all times knowing, shakily confident at least,
That You’re listening and willing.

-Robert Monson

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God within

You dwell in the core of our being.
In those places where our deepest pain and our greatest potential comingle,
you are there.
You whisper softly in the places we are most afraid,
gently calling forth our power.
Though voices old and new speak words of dominance,
attempting to build walls around our own possibility of becoming,
there is a strength that cannot be taken away from us.
No matter the lies, no matter the laws, no matter what has been done.
From our depths, you rise in us
with words of truth begging to be spoken to power
with fierce love ready to transform
with collective rage with the potential to set free
with hope
that together we can be healers.
Rise up, O God, in the flesh of angry women.
Rise up, O God, from within every nonbinary beloved.
Rise up, O God, and ignite the passion of men to tear down the thrones of the cishet white supremacist patriarchy.
Let us settle no longer
for that which makes us too small,
for that which silences,
for that which destroys,
for that which wishes for us to believe
there is no other way.

-m jade kaiser

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God is…

God is the thing that rises within us when we feel our worth.
She is that ball of feelings in the stomach right before doing something brave and terrifying.
They are the choice to lay down our privilege in acts of solidarity.

God is friendship.
She is the quiet of a morning fresh with snow.
They are an authentic apology.

God is grassroots organizing from the fringes.
She is a good story.
They are the feeling of bringing orgasmic pleasure to someone else.

God is the courage to be broken open by grief.
She is a child too lost in momentary wonder to hear her parent’s instruction.
They are a change of heart that follows with change of behavior.

God is the way the sun reflects off the ocean like glitter.
She is peace with one’s own body.
They are the thing that happens in a room when vulnerability is practiced together.

God is the practice of audacity before a dominant power.
She is the moment someone decides to live.
They are every glimpse of future flourishing sparked by the imagination.

God is profoundly mysterious and wildly unpredictable.
But also, so ordinary and simple.

– Rev. M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

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Slow enough to notice

Wherever God shows up today,
may I not be too hurried to notice,
nor too aloof to care.
When the Sacred surprises me
like an unexpected guest,
may I not hesitate to greet Them with open arms.
Let not my bias be a barrier,
to embracing The Holy’s mysterious ways.
May I be hospitable to God enfleshed
in even the dullest circumstances,
and the hardest situations,
and the strangest of places.
I am open
to encountering Love,
to meeting with Justice,
to being held by Awe.
May it be so.

– M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

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litany on vocation

This liturgy was originally created as a custom liturgy for Farlington UMC

Through pandemics and state violence,
in economic struggle and before anti-trans decrees –
into every aching place, the dreams of God reach for us.
They awaken and entice with their foolish ways of life, calling the faithful
up from pits of despair and off of thrones of power,
through waters of deliverance, and into lands of healing and repair.

Before the burning bush of this world,
asking us to love all its holy, hurting ground,
come with whatever seed of faith you can muster, and listen:
Listen for the voice of God thundering softly in your depths.
Listen with your hunger. Your hurt. Your heart and all its wisdom
cultivated over time in the company of others.
These are the soils from which God calls us to blossom and bloom,
to bear fruit that nourishes and grow our future with care.
This tending requires courage but it is not a sacrifice.
Just let yourself unfold in the direction of shared flourishing.

Maybe you are a cleansing fire or a safe place to rest.
Maybe you are the grit that won’t let us give up.
Maybe you are the queer love poem that
opens something holy and hopeful in a thousand other people.
There are a million ways to be Love
in this groaning and gorgeous world.
And that is it. That is God’s invitation. Their promise. Their lure
away from all the counter-forces that leave you
doubting your offering,
selling your soul,
or hoarding the precious and unique resources
of your story, and spirit, and life.

Trust in whatever sacred thing bubbles up from within you.
The Divine takes on flesh and yours is no exception.
You can be a conduit of eternal love.
You can be an act of radical solidarity.
You can be a moment of grace.
There is so much hope in knowing God is always that close.
There is so much joy in showing up to our collective possibility
saying “yes,” saying “here I am,” saying “may it be so.”

– M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

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A prayer for play

This world is a lot. Perhaps too much.
And in that much-ness I lose my way.
I have lost count.
The loss is sometimes gradual
A growing numbness,
And hardness that develops from the hours and years
Spent pulling myself up “by the bootstraps”
And being labeled “the Responsible One.”

Well. God. Release the play.
Release the joy.
The joy this world definitely cannot confer to me.
Spaces to lie down,
And move around.
Places of refuge that are marked by smiles and fun.
Where I can co-create
With You.

-Robert Monson

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yes, today
(yes, even today)
as fires rage and floods seethe
as so much, and so many, are inundated
under water, under evacuation, under assault
of too much for too long
and not enough, too
as we
residing in such chasms of grief
of exhaustion
of loneliness
of willful carelessness
of unmet need
yes, today
(yes, even today)
may beauty find
may gentleness soften
may care reach
may spirit soothe
may life meet
you and you and you and us
in each broken open space
in each broken open heart
in this broken open world

– Rev. Anna Blaedel, enfleshed

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tending in the midst of destruction

last night, before bed, my lover
told me i’ve started grinding my teeth
while i sleep, and all night i
dreamt my teeth were falling
out of my head, and at 3-something a.m. i awoke with a start
afraid to open my mouth.

last week, when the ceiling started falling
at work, my first thought was: “seems about right.”

everything is falling apart.

there’s a new word for existential despair
caused by climate change: solastalgia.

everything is falling apart, too fast and too soon.

nayyirah waheed whispers into the whirlwind:
1. rub honey into the night’s back.
2. make sure the moon is fed.
3. bathe the ocean.
4. warm sing the trees.

and who has time for these luxuries?
and who are we to think we can make it, without?

and today i will make giant pot after giant pot
of vegan soup to feed students through the coming weeks
of winter, because for now it still gets bone cold here.

and today i will take a walk under falling leaves
with my lover’s hand tucked in mine

because the ceiling is falling
and the world is burning
and i awoke convinced that only a walk together outside
will save us from erasure.

and flint still doesn’t have clean water.
and hundreds of children are still separated from their parents.
and a majority of white women still side with predatory misogyny and white supremacy.
and black people are still being executed by the state.
and trans people are still told we don’t or shouldn’t exist.
and clergy colleagues are still pretending that there’s middle ground with bigotry and hatred, and hear this, revs: i don’t need you to “listen to my story,” i need you to resist, and share the risk, ok? value people over rules, justice over popularity, ok? because until you do the church you’re trying to save isn’t worth it, ok? and there are more urgent losses right now, and crises, ok? and the word ally is meaningless if you’re not doing the work, ok?

and the only thing i know
is to tend to the small, the slow, the simple:
this head of garlic
this pungent ginger root
this pile of black beans
this butternut squash

tend tend tend tend tend

this afternoon’s walk
this evening’s work


this life, so gorgeous and holy and horrible, and over all too soon

– Rev. Anna Blaedel, enfleshed

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dreaming of more

If you need to be reminded:
(as we all do
from time to time)
you are beloved.
your flesh bears Sacred worth.
neither prejudice nor power should keep you
from safety nor community nor a place to learn nor a place to work nor a place to practice your faith.
neither should it keep your neighbor from the same.
in a world and time where systems of violence
entice us to compromise our values
use us as pawns
tokenize us
ban us
exploit us
and teach us to turn on one another
may we be reminded
of our collective power
of the possibilities we bear
of our divine calling…
not to settle for dreams of access to what is corrupt
but to seek, and create, and imagine and protest our way
to something altogether better.
feeding each other until we get there
clothing one another until we get there
protecting one another until we get there
hiring one another until we get there
building community with one another until we get there
creating sacred space with one another until we get there
sharing all that we have with one another until we get there
trusting that these practices
in small and ordinary and extravagant ways
will in and of themselves
enflesh that which we dream of.

-m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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psalm of imperial lament

My heart is heavy, O God.
So weary of living in the land of an empire.
My taxes, they wage wars on the innocent.
My president, he treats life like a game.
My religion, complicit in acts of terror.
Who will unseat White Supremacy from its throne?
I long for Love’s intervention.
Protect those who will bear the impossible burdens of U.S. aggression.
Those who are made invisible before our compassion.
Mothers. Children. Families.
Their deaths won’t register on our news crawls.
Their tears dismissed as “radical left” politics.
Fear turns us inward.
We become a part of the destruction,
cold to distant loss,
resigned to the narratives constructed for us.
Give us courage.
All of us.
To condemn imperialism.
To reject insular notions of love.
To let truth lead us in resistance
and compassion usher us into active solidarity.
Your power does not work through control nor domination,
but still, it is greater than the force of any military.
Do not let us be seduced into the bowels of despair,
nor convinced of our helplessness.
Keep us steady in pursuit of the truth
that makes only those who delight in power tremble.
Let your Justice, O God, rise –
that peace may draw near.

– M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

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A complicated faith

I recoil before spiritual intentions
aiming for peace
that is unaffected, untroubled, unchanged
by another white supremacist manifesto,
cascades of anti-trans bills,
or the cruel politics of war.
What comfort is untainted tranquility
that never has its own
sleepless nights
restless with grief,
talking with ghosts
of children and elders,
and a god that is tired.

I rest only in the company
of an honest and confused faith, broken
open and angry with no tidy answers,
but love that is willing to fight.

I don’t know exactly what it looks like in a body,
in a prayer,
in a daily life
to refuse to be resolved
while also refusing to wear out.
Pressed in either direction,
I find only dead ends.
So I feel downward.
Like roots.
Like lineages.
Like the dark, quiet soils
where time doesn’t exist.

Burrowing beneath the fragile, careful surface,
I seek the spiritual underground
where the unkempt and unruly
groan in those dense, wordless depths
and worms are busy
shifting the earth.

M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

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unsentimental love

May the love I am learning to practice
not be so sentimental that it appears to lack direction.
This love is moving with purpose –
not toward a transcendent unity of rising above
nor a god of come-together.
But down into the depths of everything
where power, pain, and possibility push and pull us
toward or away from transformation.

May there be no confusion that what I mean to say and do
is love according to principles that set free.
Literally, learning to love in the direction of abolition.
And also, learning from love that unbinds
those deep-down parts that cling fearfully to what deadens and destroys.

May the love I am learning to practice
be tender, yes.
But also unafraid to bite.
May the sharp teeth of its determination
cut through every layer and legacy of
of all that has been done and undone in its name
and fiercely declare its truth.

M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

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So much has been hidden:
To protect narratives and people.
To disempower.
To confuse.

Unsatisfied with stories that get us by
but never get us free,
may we be people who look beyond,
who listen beneath,
who feel through and through.

Though we know only in part,
and we prophesy only in part,
we do not grow weary in faith.
Though evil shrouds our view,
with each new learning and unlearning
the partial fades away.

The histories
and complicities
and losses
and power
of our entangled lives
cry out for understanding.

With courage, we open ourselves to truth.
With humility, we endeavor to be transformed.
With hope, we hold on to each other.
May Love lead us in the Sacred work of unveiling.
May all that shrouds justice be uncovered
and the ways of healing revealed.

M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

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God is lure

God is an invitation.
A lure.
A chance to do things differently.
Always before us,
God is the possibility of collective change.
Though everyday ordinary patterns of living
disguise evil and cover over sins of power,
God makes known what is hidden,
calls us to courage,makes us capable of radical solidarity.
We are not left powerless.
Every day there are openings.
Every day a chance to choose what is right.
Every day an opportunity to re-pattern the world.

  • m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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God who pays attention

God who feels,
God who pays attention,
God who formed webs of life entangled,
Help me to notice today…
To notice my body – what it’s telling me it needs and wants.
To notice my neighbors – who they are and how they are.
To notice the creatures and creations around me – each as a valuable life of their own.
You know my limitations – what is enough or too much
To be aware of at once. To connect with. To feel. To hold.
Do not allow me to rush pass what needs or deserves my attention.
Neither let me be overwhelmed by trying to bear more than my share.
Just help me to be alive to what is,
alive to you within and around.

  • m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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Took on flesh

God took on flesh
and showed us what love looks like.
If we love one another,
we protect each other from evil.
If we love the planet,
we protect it from destruction.
If we love ourselves,
we protect ourselves from systemic lies and practices
meant to destroy us in body or spirit.

Love protects. It is not an idle bystander.
It is not neutral nor is it helpless.
Love rises before unjust power and declares itself unwilling to comply

Love is not an idle bystander.
Love intervenes.
Sometimes gently, while no one notices.
Sometimes extravagantly, with passion.Sometimes rudely, because it is necessary.
Love does not find virtue in claims of objectivity nor neutrality.
Love is not helpless.Love does not give up.
Love suffers sometimes, but that is never the main thing.
Love loves to love.

– rev. m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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when divorce is a blessing

Many times, divorce is the most loving decision.
Because people change, but not always together.
Or trauma occurs, and healing must happen elsewhere.
Or systems of domination constricted life in the before,
and now it’s finally time to blossom.

Many times, divorce is the hardest decision.
Those who ignorantly scoff
about “taking the easy way out”
don’t know how it can be an apocalypse.
How it can destroy before it revives.

Many times, divorce is the most mature decision.
One born from discernment and care
about what life and love need to flourish.
One that takes seriously that there is a time for everything.
Sometimes it is a time to stay.
Sometimes it is a time to part.

To be divorced
is not to be a failure at love
nor incapable of commitment.
Though assumptions and stigma still linger
to be divorced says nothing on its own
about a person’s heart, their relational capacities, or priorities.

Thank God for those who call into question endurance without love.
Thank God for those who are willing to bear the judgment of others to chase what is right.
Thank God for those who fight for themselves and each other, even when that means choosing divorce.

(No, it’s not always good nor right nor just – like any other thing. No, it’s not without its own complications or even always available. But many times it is – and that’s not said enough.)

  • m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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let love be messy

Love isn’t just one thing;
it’s fierce and soft,
intimate and collective,
wild and sincere and deliberate and just.
Love can be more chaos than order.
Love can be a boundary.
Love can be conflict.
It’s complicated.
It’s multifaceted.
Love is hard work.
Love is natural.
Love is a process and practice.
Though its paths are many and varied,
love always leads to life.
Love is an ever-unfolding thing
we are all still figuring out.

  • m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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take flesh

Take flesh in our hands,
that they might cook meals that nourish,
plant seeds that grow life,
create art that inspires,
touch tenderly bodies that ache.
Take flesh in our feet,
that wherever we may find ourselves:
kitchen tables,
­sites of conflict,
places of peace,
we will be rooted
in the assurance of
our power and possibilities.
Take flesh in our voice,
that we might
call for the mighty to be torn from their thrones,
speak words of compassion and love,
and whisper “thank you”
to every source of beauty that upholds us.
Take flesh in our gut, in our bones, in our deepest places of knowing
that we might listen
to that which moves us without words,
to the wisdom of feeling,
to that which we have silenced
by the tyranny of reason.
Take flesh in our skin,
our curves,
our wrinkles,
our scars,
in every detail of these bodies,
that we might begin to honor
the holy we wear.
Take flesh in our eyes
that we might weep
tears worthy of
all that has been lost,
all that has been taken,
all that has been betrayed.
Take flesh, O God,
in our beating hearts,
that we might
keep fighting for collective life,
keep believing in divine possibilities,
keep loving despite our trembling,
keep turning towards each other.
Come, O come, Emmanuel.

  • m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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we need each other

Each time we grasp the hand of another,
God is there, in the flesh entangled.
Queer lovers stroll together, one hand squeezes the other,
“we got each other” as passing eyebrows furrow.

At the hospital, one hand, soft with skin that is
loose and free
rests gently in the firm, calloused hand of a son.
I’m sorry. Thank you. I love you.
In his palm, a whole life is held.

When it’s little, itty-bitty fingers that
can only almost wrap around an adult pinky finger
that counts too.
The most gentle squeeze
that knows not its own power.
Melting hearts with such an effortless reaching out
like that’s an easy thing to do.

A long string of people with hands clenched tightly
screaming with the most courageous kind of fear.
Traffic is shut down.
Cries for justice just loud enough
to mostly drown out those screaming from their cars.
The police will be here soon.
Heart rates pulse.
Can’t tell if it’s yours or mine or ours.

Hands holding hands.
A prayer too rare.
A site of the holy.
Where the reaching out and the receiving,
the grasping and being grasped,
the need to be held and the needing to hold,
all get perfectly mixed up.

A returning
to that which is always true
but so rarely spoken to
in the language of flesh.

We need each other.
We need each other.
We need each other.

  • m jade kaiser, enfleshed

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Bite-sized bits

You, O God, are with us not only on mountain tops and in the valleys. On the long stretches of ordinary, you are there too.

May your sustaining hand uphold.
May your righteous fury arise.
May your tender care embrace.
May Love do its work on all of us.
Awakening us to the roles we play,
Calling us to lives of collective transformation,
Nourishing us to dream dreams and prophesy of the world
You conspire to create with us
Where everyday injustice is no more.

Salvation. Redemption. Liberation.
This is not a hero’s story.
It’s all hands on deck.
Everyone with an offering.
Building power, building relationship, building community.
Possibility blossoms.

God is the God of the living:
the One who keeps love alive,
the One who holds all that was
and is and ever will be,
the One who makes even
what has died alive again.
In the presence of God,
we feel the closeness of eternity
and the breath of our ancestors.
So thin is the veil
between us and the heavens.

Do not be deceived!
To cast our lot with love is a serious thing.
Though some have called love weak,
such is a shallow understanding.
Love is power.
Love is solidarity.
Love is freedom,
defiant and emerging.
All those who practice love,
who enflesh love,
who materialize and multiply love,a
bide in God and God in them.

  • m jade kaiser, enfleshed

The One who raises the sun each morning
and lifts high the moon at night,
ushers us too,
through cycles of rising, falling, and rising again.
Though we stumble, God lifts us.
Though we doubt, God remains.
Though we get weary, God revives.

– m jade kaiser

Divine Love is attentive, not avoidant. Patient, but not passive. It is biased towards justice, urging and luring and drawing all life toward liberation. Divine Love is expressed when we practice care, manifest courage, and welcome what is necessary for lasting transformation – difficult and possible. May such love be nourished, nurtured, protected within us, between us, and in all its creaturely forms.

M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

Like clay in the hands of a potter, divinity shapes our lives and brings us into being. Each of us, creative expressions of Divine intention. Sacred art. Glorious wonders. We are of beauty. We are from love. We come home in justice. May we have faith in these holy capacities letting them lead us to all that we must face,all that can be transformed, all we hope to become.

M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

They told me the Divine is a strict practitioner of the straight and narrow, the cis and fixed,
but I have come to know Them as anything but controlled and controlling. The Divine is a promiscuous love, a very queer experience, an embrace as fluid and changing as water, as baptism, as blessing.

I have learned this through pleasure and pain – mine and generations. Now, I see all around me the strange and nonconforming ones and cry Holy, Holy, Holy.

M Jade Kaiser, enfleshed

Spirit of Liberation,
wise and cunning, determined and gracious,
teach us of loyalty to only love’s ways.

May we become more committed to one another’s flourishing than to any institution.
May we be released from fears that cause us to hoard resources, power, safety, or control.
May we become convinced of the power you have given us to disrupt, resist, and transform evil and oppression within and around.

Thy kith-dom come.
Bear the heavens among the earth.
Queer relations.
More than human.
We turn from supremacies.
We claim each other.
That Love’s will may lead us to liberation.

– m jade kaiser

none of this is normal.
none of this is new, even as so much is and feels unprecedented.
all of this has been building for a long time.
repairing/restoring/healing is long, slow labor.
some losses can never be made right.
here we are.
may we:
breathe. create. harbor.
share nourishment.
savor the joy that finds us.
cultivate beauty where and how we can.
disrupt the shit that’s killing us, collectively and unequally.
tend life with fierce and tender care.
rev. anna blaedel

Love does not usher us in the direction of linear progress, but lures us ever deeper into the arms of transformation, intimate and collective.

– m jade kaiser

Weep with us, O God.
Meet us in our feelings of powerlessness.
Companion us through our grief.
Do not let is overcome us,
But hold us in our despair.
Make Sacred our lament.

May we not be more afraid of division
Than of cruelty and injustice,
More afraid of conflict with beloveds
Than of losing our souls to complicity with evil.

God is transformative potential,
always with and within us – this is a resurrection promise.

God is the practice of imagination,
luring through futures more desirable.
God is a collective yearning for what liberates,
calling the faithful to nurture the seed of Easter,
to bring justice into full bloom.

God is all that sustainsthe ones who grow weary in labors of love;
God is all that troubles those who cling to what destroys.

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