The Pastor's Parsonage Porch

06/02/2026

About right.

05/06/2026

04/13/2026

The woven chair receives me with regular embrace,
bamboo and wicker bending in gentle welcome.
The warm sun settles on the armrest,
stretching the day like a soft benediction
spoken slowly over tired hearts.

Out across the block, where the low ground gathers dusk,
a chorus rises;
frogs, persistent preachers of the marsh,
their voices layered and uneven,
yet somehow whole and beautiful.
They do not hurry their hymn.
They simply sing, as they were made to sing.

Closer still, on the utility post worn by seasons past,
a robin repeats his bright refrain;
clear, insistent, almost extravagant.
Again and again he lifts it up,
as though the day were never done being born,
as though joy itself required rehearsal.

The light lingers longer now.
Evening does not fall so quickly,
but opens its hands slowly,
letting gold slip into blue
with a patience we had nearly forgotten.

And here we sit;
not striving, not earning;
just receiving.

The earth itself is preaching:
death does not keep what God has claimed.
Beneath the thawing ground, life has been at work,
hidden, certain, unstoppable.

So too with us.

What seemed buried,
what seemed ended,
what seemed beyond hope
has not been abandoned.

Christ lives.
And because He lives, we rise.

The frogs in the distance do not know the Gospel,
yet they set an example of proclamation.
The robin does not speak the Creed,
yet he confesses joy.
The lengthening day does not quote the Scriptures,
yet it proclaims light overcoming darkness.

And I, who has heard His Word,
sits on this quiet porch
and gives thanks.

Spring is not merely a turning of the season,
it is a reminder, gentle and sure:
we are held in a life that cannot fade,
a life rooted not in ourselves,
but in Christ who makes all things new.

03/09/2026

Thank you, Lord.

02/14/2026

Ahhh…

01/13/2026

In the past, I’ve been overly critical of this hymn. The message is good. Not the most Lutheran, but still a good message. And this rendition is excellent.