CLICK HERE for video of this sermon CLICK HERE for a printable PDF of this sermon. Some years ago, I preached at the Unitarian church in Santa Barbara, CA, a Spanish revivalist church right across from a beautiful park. As I was walking across the patio between services, I tripped. (Exclaiming Jesus Christ). I didn’t […]
Burnt Norton (from The Four Quartets) by T. S. Eliot
Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable. What might have been is an abstraction Remaining a perpetual possibility Only in a world of speculation. What might have been and what has been Point […]
East Coker – from The Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot
I. In my beginning is my end. In succession Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass. Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires, Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth Which is […]
The Hollow Men b T. S. Eliot
Mistah Kurtz — he dead. A penny for the Old Guy I We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats’ feet over broken glass In our dry cellar […]
Journey of The Magi by T. S. Eliot
“A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The was deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.” And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, Lying down in the melting snow. There were times we regretted The summer palaces on […]
Little Gidding (No. 4 of ‘Four Quartets’) by T. S. Eliot
I Midwinter spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire, The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches, In windless cold that is the heart’s heat, Reflecting in a watery mirror A glare that […]
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo. (“If I thought that my reply would be to someone who would ever return to earth, this flame […]