Rev. Diane Rollert
April 18, 2021
Earth, most beautiful earth,
this morning I rise to remember
how often I take for granted
the gifts you give each day,
the ground that emerges
from the melted snow,
the mud that brings forth
ferns and trout lilies,
the skunk cabbage that lines the path,
odd in its lunar shapes,
breaking through soil
to sing out Alleluia
with the freedom of release,
the buds on trees
stretching out small fingers
that will soon become leaves,
the first daffodils
and magnolias,
the scent of cherry and apple trees
waiting to blossom.
This abundance, this glorious abundance,
this ever returning miracle
of spring,
of your fruits,
of this gift of life,
must never be a dying song.
Each morning you call to us
to heed your lessons of wisdom,
to heal the wounds we have inflicted,
to recognize the scars,
to wake up, to respond, to act,
to undo now
what will otherwise be irreversible
if we remain idle and complacent.
You have formed us, loved us, tolerated us,
given us everything,
and we have taken too much
and given nothing in return.
Your forgiveness has reached its limit.
Oh Earth, may we remember,
that you are not ours,
but we are yours.
Amen.