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  • Writer's pictureDavid Carlson

1068: Celebrants List for 2023

Day 1068: Friday, February 17, 2023

Celebrants List for 2023

Celebrants List for 2023

Dear Sisters and Brothers: This is a partial list of celebrants who volunteered at this week's Liturgy Committee Meeting. I say partial because we know there are members who would love to participate as celebrants in our liturgies during the year but who could not attend the meeting.

There is also room for members to sign on with others who have already volunteered: For example: David has signed up for 2 liturgies but so far is alone. He would gladly work with a concelebrant (or 2 or 3) or give away both liturgies to other folks who would like to lead a celebration. I'm sure others would do the same. November 12 is not spoken for yet. A golden opportunity to work with a friend.

Here's the list in PDF format:

Emmaus Celebrants List 2023.xlsx
Download PDF • 28KB

Steve and Dan Vrooman did a marvelous job of leading the meeting, collecting the volunteers and producing this fine spreadsheet of the year. We thank them.

Dan Vrooman also provided us two wonderful poems -- please see them after the list.

From Dan Vrooman:

Thou art breath: and the air marches, the clouds go and cease, the lungs fill, the flesh dances. Thou art hands: and the morning stars abide, the vast daylight holds in place, the broken cities are mended, and the living and the dying are cradled forever. Thou art mystery: and in thee is hidden wonder, the other side of dark is thine; and the brown sparrow in the caves is comrade to thy lightning.

Glory and honor and majesty and power are thine forever and ever. Amen

--Arnold Kenseth



I would like my living to inhabit me the way rain, sun, and their wanting inhabit a fig or apple.

I would like to meet it also in pieces, scattered: a conversation set down on a long hallway table;

a disappointment pocketed inside a jacket; some long-ago longing glimpsed, half-recognized, in the corner of a thrift store painting.

To discover my happiness, walking first toward then away from me down a stairwell, on two strong legs all its own.

Also, the uncountable wheat stalks, how many times broken, beaten, sent between grindstones, before entering the marriage of oven and bread—

Let me find my life in that, too.

In my moments of clumsiness, solitude; in days of vertigo and hesitation; in the many year-ends that found me standing on top of a stovetop to take down a track light.

In my nights’ asked, sometimes answered, questions.

I would like to add to my life, while we are still living, a little salt and butter, one more slice of the edible apple, a teaspoon of jam from the long-simmered fig.

To taste as if something tasted for the first time what we will have become then.

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