27 February 2026 Lenten Reflection

Brokenness and Hope in God’s World

Loving God, As we pause in this moment, quieten our hearts and still our minds. Help us to listen — to you, to one another, and to the world you love.

In the midst of brokenness, open our eyes to signs of hope, and guide our thoughts as we reflect together. Amen.

Brokenness and Hope in God’s World Rev Judy

Although I had a theme hovering in my heart and mind for today well before Christmas, much of what I have chosen to share in Thoughts to Ponder came more gradually. Influenced particularly by the final weeks of 2025, I found myself listening closely to people’s thoughts and stories — stories of hope, but also, sadly more often, personal reflections shaped by family experiences and by deep concern for the world we live in: God’s world, our planet, which we are called to care for more faithfully. Alongside this were the political undercurrents that marked the closing of last year.

It is a real gift to be able to stay in touch with friends and family across the world through social media and instant messaging. And it may not surprise you to know that, in many different countries, similar feelings were being expressed — a shared recognition of brokenness, yet also moments, and glimpses, of hope.

Sadly, the beginning of 2026 has continued in a similar way.

I haven’t planned to add any more words at this stage, as we will probably each ponder today’s theme in different ways.

I’d simply like to introduce some words by Christine Sine, which I will read, and then we will be invited into a time of stillness.

So, as I pondered these things in my heart and mind, turning thoughts over and over, and seeking the guidance of the Holy Spirit, I happened to see a new post from Christine Sine appear on my phone — and in that moment I knew that these words, gently yet firmly, made sense of all that I had been holding.

Christine had slightly adapted a previously written piece of hers …

“Is our world broken - beyond repair?

Will we always meet violence with more violence?

Death with death? Hate with hate?

What has happened to love,

And the call to care for others as we do ourselves?

What have we done with Jesus, the One who holds it all together,

and promises to fix all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe.

The One who told us love your enemies, let them bring out the best in you,

not the worst.

Live out your God created identity. Live generously and graciously towards others. Be loving in all circumstances. Shout out for justice where wrong is done. Tread lightly on the earth. Care for creation. Join God in kingdom work.

Enable all life to flourish And bring the peace of God into being in all its wholeness and completeness.”

Christine Sine December 2025 (adapted from “Celtic Advent”

Blessing

Oh, Great Spirit,

whose voice I hear in the winds

and whose breath gives life to all the world,

hear me.

I am small and weak.

I need your strength and wisdom.

Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes

ever behold the red and purple sunset.

Make my hands respect the things you have made

and my ears sharp to hear your voice.

Make me wise so that I may understand

the things you have taught my people.

Let me learn the lessons you have hidden

in every leaf and rock.

Help me seek pure thoughts and act

with the intention of helping others.

Help me find compassion without

empathy overwhelming me.

I seek strength, not to be superior

to my brothers and sisters,

but to fight my greatest enemy - myself.

Make me always ready to come to you

with clean hands and straight eyes,

so when life fades, as the fading sunset,

my spirit will come to you

without shame.

Native American Indian

Lakota - Chief Yellow Lark – 1887

THOUGHTS TO PONDER

Magnificat in the Gutter Rev’d Jon Swales, 2025

Found a Bible in the foodbank queue, someone left it wedged in the radiator.

Fell open to Mary’s song — The ‘Magnificat’, they call it.

Sounds posh. But it hit different. Like prophetic fire packaged in a lullaby.

She’s a girl— young, pregnant, shamed, unseen by priests, invisible to Caesar.

And still she sings. Not soft. Not safe. But fierce,

like she’s seen through the lies of empire -and lived to tell the tale.

‘He has scattered the proud.’ Good. Because the proud don’t see me.

Not the bank manager. Not those who hoard wealth.

Not the judge who fills out the form and moves on.

‘He brings down the mighty from their thrones.’ I’ve seen thrones—

not gold ones, but high-rises full of profit, built on broken backs,

courtrooms where the suits smile - while we get time,

boardrooms where they hoard.

Mary’s not playing. She’s preaching. Like Hannah before her, like the midwives in Egypt, like that woman in Revelation … screaming against the Beast.

And here I am, in a cold flat with mould on the ceiling,

shaking through another night, and I wonder— ’Is she singing for me?’

Because if God lifts the lowly, I qualify. If God feeds the hungry, my belly’s ready.

If God remembers mercy, I’ve got a list of things I can’t forget.

They sing this song in cathedrals — robed choirs, golden processions.

But I think she sang it in a whisper, mud on her sandals, blood in her veins,

a heartbeat like revolution.

If that’s true, then maybe this old book ain’t a fairy tale after all.

Maybe it’s a manifesto from the margins.

Maybe God’s already here— in the cracks, in the cold,

in the cry of a girl who dared to hope in the shadow of empire.

And maybe so can I.

Rev’d Jon Swales, December 2025

Sowing Love – Henri Nouwen

You know something about brokenness. You know about the broken world. You know about brokenness in your country. But most personally, you know it in your more intimate life. You know we are broken people and we suffer very intimate pains. The pain of a desire for intimacy that hasn’t been fulfilled . . . the pain of a relationship that did not work . . . the pain of an addiction that is so hard to confess . . . The secret pain of loneliness that can bite us so much . . . And what I would like to say to you is don’t be afraid of your pain but dare to embrace it. If you are wounded, and I know that you are and I am, put your brokenness under the blessing.

We are called to give our lives to others, so you and I can bear fruit. And all brokenness, and all dying, and all suffering is there to allow you to enter into solidarity with the whole human family, and to give yourselves to others so that your life can bear fruit. God asks you not to have a successful life but to have a fruitful life.

Henri Nouwen

"I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy." - John 16: 20 (NIV)

https://henrinouwen.org/meditations/sowing-love/

The Truth About Me – Henri Nouwen

"You have to keep unmasking the world about you for what it is: manipulative, controlling, power-hungry, and, in the long run, destructive. The world tells you many lies about who you are, and you simply have to be realistic enough to remind yourself of this. Every time you feel hurt, offended, or rejected, you have to dare to say to yourself: “These feelings, strong as they may be, are not telling me the truth about myself. The truth, even though I cannot feel it right now, is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God’s eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity, and held safe in an everlasting embrace.” - Henri Nouwen – from You Are the Beloved

John O’Donohue

When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic, Time takes on the strain until it breaks; Then all the unattended stress falls in on the mind like an endless, increasing weight. The light in the mind becomes dim. Things you could take in your stride before, now become laboursome events of will. Weariness invades your spirit.

Gravity begins falling inside you, Dragging down every bone.

The tide you never valued has gone out. And you are marooned on unsure ground.

Something within you has closed down; And you cannot push yourself back to life.

You have been forced to enter empty time.

The desire that drove you has relinquished. There is nothing else to do now but rest And patiently learn to receive the self you have forsaken for the race of days.

At first your thinking will darken - And sadness take over like listless weather.

The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.

You have travelled too fast over false ground;

Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up to all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain when it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight, taking time to open the well of colour

That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone until its calmness can claim you.

Be excessively gentle with yourself. Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.

Learn to linger around someone of ease who feels

they have all the time in the world.

Gradually, you will return to yourself, having learned a new respect for your heart

And the joy that dwells far within slow time.

John O'Donohue, from "Blessings"

The Work of Christmas begins – as we travel between Candlemas and Holy Week

When the song of the angels is stilled, When the star in the sky is gone,

When the kings and princes are home, When the shepherds are back with their flock,

the work of Christmas begins:

To find the lost, To heal the broken, To feed the hungry, To release the prisoner,

To rebuild the nations, To bring peace to all, To make music in the heart.

Howard Thurman

For Everything

Forgive, for everything said and not said.

For everything done and everything not.

Where you have failed, draw a line, stand this side of memory.

Where there is only the heart of Yeshua, full for you, loving and sincere.

Share what it is you need and you will be heard.

For all the ways that hurt has spread, let Love make recompense,

walk the line for you, sowing seeds of understanding for discord,

intention for ignorance.

Showing up, committed to the sum of all, each perfect and flawed,

but flesh of each other’s flesh, beloved of each other’s hearts.

Just as we, once begotten, were not forgotten. For one moment, breath.

Ana Lisa de Jong Living Tree Poetry December 2025

Before There Were People

Before there were people there was earth, sky, sea.

Rivers making their way, a ribbon among prairies and seed heads.

Before there were buildings there were forests, cathedrals made of trees.

Before industry, there was the work of the birds and the bees.

Before the world was peopled there was nature, as newly formed gift,

Flourishing with kiss of sun and precipitation. Growing up and out.

Before there were people there was quiet,

the sound of water on stone, rustle of leaf.

And now, to know the redemption of sin, our blight upon the earth,

we travel to find nature’s old Edens, her unspoilt original designs.

And undone by leaves and water and bird-song,

and the uncorrupted beauty of beast, we can, if we are not smiling

and breathing, stand quite still and weep.

Ana Lisa de Jong Living Tree Poetry January 2026

O Sapientia

I cannot think unless I have been thought, nor can I speak unless I have been spoken.

I cannot teach except as I am taught, or break the bread except as I am broken.

O Mind behind the mind through which I seek,

O Light within the light by which I see,

O Word beneath the words with which I speak,

O founding, unfound Wisdom, finding me,

O sounding Song whose depth is sounding me, O Memory of time, reminding me,

My Ground of Being, always grounding me, my Maker’s Bounding Line, defining me,

Come, hidden Wisdom, come with all you bring,

Come to me now, disguised as everything.

Malcolm Guite

Eagle Poem

To pray you open your whole self - To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon

To one whole voice that is you - And know there is more that you can’t see,

can’t hear; can’t know except in moments steadily growing, and in languages

That aren’t always sound but other circles of motion. Like eagle that Sunday morning over Salt River. Circled in blue sky in wind, swept our hearts clean with sacred wings. We see you, see ourselves and know that we must take the utmost care And kindness in all things. Breathe in, knowing we are made of all this, and breathe, knowing we are truly blessed because we were born, and die soon within a true circle of motion, like eagle rounding out the morning inside us.

We pray that it will be done - in beauty in beauty.

Joy Harjo

A Blessing For After

This blessing is for the moment after clarity has come, after inspiration,

after you have agreed to what seems impossible.

This blessing is what follows after illumination departs and you realize

there is no map for the path you have chosen, no one to serve as guide,

nothing to do but gather up your gumption and set out.

This blessing will go with you. It carries no answers, no charts, no plans. It carries no source of light within itself. But in its pocket is tucked a mirror that, from time to time, it will hold up to you to remind you of the radiance that came when you gave your awful and wondrous yes.

by Jan Richardson ©janrichardson.com

Rest Awhile

Hope whispers my name and speaks to my soul:

“Rest a while. I have a healing balm and will tend your wounds.”

I counter:

“But have you seen the pain? The poison runs deep. The beasts run wild.”

And hope speaks, addressing my wounded heart:

“Indeed, I know.

The night is darkest just before the dawn.

On cursed tree, through whip and nail, the evil of empire

& the sickness of sin sinned against me.

Alone in pain, I breathed my last.”

Downcast, I spoke: “The beast has won. Hope lies silent in the grave.

In the book of life, evil will have the last word.”

And hope rejoiced— laughed and sang a song of healing love:

“My beloved one, this is not true.

The grave did not win. I was raised to life.

Evil does not have the last word. Love itself has won.”

And I wept, and he wiped the tears from my face.

Hope embraced me in his love.

I beheld his face.

We danced.

He is making all things new.

Rev’d Jon Swales, Easter 2023

And then, suddenly, as I was about to finalise the Thoughts to Ponder, I found this – also from Jon Swales

A Lament for a Secular Age

Grieve for the thirst we no longer feel, for the hunger dulled by constant feasting.

Name the beauty now slipped from our noticing, the mystery we have ground into dust beneath our shoes. Search for the holy we taught ourselves not to hear; for in searching, our hearts may break — and in breaking, remember how to heal.

I am old enough to remember when the world spoke back. When dawn was not merely light on a clockface but promise, kept again. When rain arrived as mercy, and a loaf on the table was miracle enough. Meaning was not hunted— it found us, wrapped in the ordinary.

We have stripped the voice from the earth. Sky and soil reduced to numbers, yield and margin, assets to be spent. Our hands are quick to take, slow to bless, slower still to tend. We speak of ethics without kneeling in the awe that once gave them breath.

Our houses are full, our tables crowded, and still we eat alone.

Yet — grace persists, stubborn as roots. It rises in the shy smile of a stranger, in the wavering refrain of an old hymn, in a grandchild’s laugh still unacquainted with despair. These moments wound me open, and I begin to wonder if hope has only been waiting for our attention.

Let us turn, while turning is still possible, toward older ways — slower, smaller,

measured by care rather than gain.

Let us relearn blessing, and the hard, holy discipline of restraint.

Let us tell stories that will not flatter us, and plant trees whose shade we will never claim.

And so - I pray: though my eyes may not see it, may theirs — my grandchildren,

and the children after them— walk again in a world where bread

is broken with gratitude, and stars sing over fields no one has tried to own.

Rev'd Jon Swales January 2026