Sunday Reflection

Beside the enormity of evil
words pale,
dwarfed
by that which leers
and laughs
at them,
assuring their authors
that no one,
no one,
will ever
believe them. 
In this way,
evil often becomes
fiction.  

Prayers,
prayers . . . 
in such cases, perhaps only
prayers
will do.

Walking with Kateri

My shoes, they crunch upon the gravel,
kicking up the dust,
sunlight spliced between the trees,
inviting wanderlust. 

Blue jay trills and woodpecker drills
in random soliloquy;
my failings and prayers cluster side by side --

restless soul needing wisdom to see.

 

I seek out Kateri, serene Mohawk friend,
perhaps standing beside a tree;
meek, unassuming, her Lily soul blooming,
she will fall in step with me. 

We walk, and we talk (but I hear only me),
the air growing fresh and pure;
I must improve much, but I feel her calm touch
upon me to reassure. 

As she departs, sweet hope springs alive
like a bursting, well-fanned flame;
and I know hope is due to this friend, mirror true
of His Love in her blessed name.  

(Written in honor of Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha, Lily of the Mohawks)

One

Addiction --

weeping wound

at the juncture of time and space

where "never"

collides with

"now." 

The angels

rush to gather 'round,

heads bowed,

bathing the wound

in their tears,

drenching the soul

with their prayers. 

And the world hurts

in unknowing sympathy,

because this

one

suffers so.

My Prayer

Help me to become
who I must be,
before You regret
ever making me.
Amen.

The Real Question

The question isn't, "Is this job good enough for me?"  The question is, "Am I good enough for this job?"

Am I docile enough to sweep the street, pump the gas, clear the tables, stack the books, wash the dishes, or collect the garbage with the clear understanding that this is the job which, today, God has given to me?

Will I have the integrity to perform this job with honor and cheer?  Will I avoid "cutting corners" out of laziness, disdain, or shame?

If so, my work will become my prayer and source of dignity:  God will be glorified.

Waiting

"Something is wrong,"

murmurs the wind to the sky.

Uneasy down here,

I appeal on high.

All is calm,

all is still,

but something eludes me,

pray though I will.

Expectant, I wait

(for what, I don't know),

as I hold fast to hope, begging,

"Please, hope, don't go."

No Surrender

World preoccupied and deaf, 

I will not surrender my meaning

to your oblivion.

The truth in me will endure.

There is no small truth in the universe.

It is all as majestic as the

mountains,

all bathed in God's glory,

even if no human eyes

ever see it,
even if no human ear

ever hears it.

My cry is real.
He hears.
He knows.

Words to a Departing Cathedral

Goodbye,

aged and blessed cathedral

where, by His touch,

deacon voices sprang alive,
where, under His gaze,
little candle-bearer upheld his flame

(wax dripping on his head),
from whose dim and dusty loft

ancient prayers took flight in song

(soaring past St. Martin de Tours on the high glass,

winging upward toward the dome),

whose pealing echoes

bore heart's secret notes

to the Prisoner

freed
by consecrated hands.

Suffering Japan

May God help the Japanese people.

Our Lady of Akita, pray for us.

http://www.ewtn.com/library/mary/akita.htm
(Copy and paste into new URL line)

Our Lady of Fatima, pray for us.

http://www.fatima.org/crusader/truestory/truestorytoc.asp
(Copy and past into new URL line)

Soul, Transported

Armenia 
of Ararat

Martyred red
Steeped in hymn

You call my name

and I don't know why

Your language soothes

my ears

Your music arrests

my heart

Your priests cry out

through the winds

from the fields

to the mountains

upon which

in my soul

I pray.

A Million Lamps

Listening to Rimsky-Korsakov's swirling and ecstatic symphonic suite, Scheherazade, I become aware of Our Lord's ineffable sweetness and consolation in the rising waves of sound.  I am surprised to realize just how distant has seemed this Voice of my Friend.  I am thrilled to feel His Presence, suddenly so near -- not merely the promise of Springtime, but Divine Springtime, Himself.

"I am here with you, listening, as I have been all along.  How could you have doubted?" asks He, wordlessly, in my soul.  With that, a thousand birds burst into song and a million lamps light up my skies.

Like Martha's sister, Mary, I bask in the silent embrace of His Knowing, Easter rising within me once again.

(To listen to the beginning of Scheherazade, copy this URL:
http://youtu.be/s_pkRH2DZuw.  Next, open a second browser window, and paste this URL to the new URL line.  Set your volume high because the recording volume is low.)