My Gran and the Christmas Invitation

My Gran and the Christmas Invitation:

Today, St. Stephen’s day is a very sacred one in our family… not just because of the first Martyr’s witness and passing to the Lord, but because it is also my Gran’s anniversary.

My Mother’s mother, she was, (and is), one of the greatest influences in my life growing up.

I have always regarded Gran as one of my first and best teachers, not only in the ways of faith but even on the contemplative path within it. 

Many, many hours were spent with her, listening to her stories and imbibing her teaching (though she would never have called it that… she simply taught by her very being, as all good elders do). Faith for her was as natural as breathing, and indeed, if you listened as closely as I often did to her whistled breathing as she went about her day, a short prayer to the Sacred Heart or to Our Lady was often just beneath the surface of her breath.

Like her own Mother and Grandmother before her she was a “sharp woman”, as they used to say in Dublin, meaning a wise person and one with a direct line to the Spiritual world. 
Her mother was sought out amongst the Dublin flats as she had “the way” of helping difficult births and deaths and was often asked for advice about a “match” between couples as she had a “good eye” for these things.

Gran was no different and there were many times I would go over to her house to find her sitting beside the phone waiting for the call that would tell her so and so had died. She, of course, already knew as she had “the dream” the previous night… the phone call always came to confirm it and I soon learned to be used to it. 
On other occasions I would arrive to hear her chatting aloud with someone only to discover her alone by the fire when I entered the room.

I never asked.

She never said.

We didn’t need to.

She taught me those ways too. 
“Look into the fire and tell me what you see” she would say, and then smile when, to my surprise, I saw. 

She taught me to look at people’s eyes when they spoke and at the way they stood and moved. 
She had tremendous devotion to the Blessed Virgin who had “been through it all” and her prayers to her were not so much novenas or devotions as a constant conversation born of a life long trust. She had great respect for the friars and religious orders much preferring their churches in town where she could attend anonymously, not liking the front seat parish people as she called them. 
She reminded me often never to judge anyone and taught me to give to the poor, especially beggars in the street. 
“There’s always a story there,” she would say, 
“No one is on the street because they want to be.” 
Women were on the street or poor because, 
“Men put them there.” 
Men were on the street or poor because, 
“Most men are fools for the bottle or for a story.” 
No matter the reason they were to be listened to and helped.

She had been sharp in other ways too. A hard life and losing her husband early on had made her hard in her mid-life and it was only as a Gran that she softened again. In her later years she would often tell me that she was glad she got to be a Gran after everything she had been through.

She often worried about her death. She was not afraid to die. 
"No one dies alone", she would say. 
She had seen enough deaths to know that, 
“They come to collect you.” 

She was, however, afraid that she would die in the house and that I or another grandchild would find her. So for the last few years of her life she prayed everyday the “Thirty day’s prayer” to Our Lady for a happy death and listed the way she wanted to go:

She wanted to die in her sleep so she could “wake up in Heaven”.

She wanted to die alone but having said her goodbyes and surrounded by love.

She wanted to be ready to go.

She talked about it often, not in a morbid way, but in the way you recite your shopping list.

Going and coming were natural in their very essence and death she had long taught and lived was nothing to be afraid of for a Christian soul.

That Christmas she had been very unwell.

Pneumonia had followed a chest and kidney infection and a stay in hospital was called for. She did not want to go but acquiesced at my Mum’s request. Feeling a little better after a few days of antibiotics she was to be released for Christmas by the Docs even though Mum was not happy that she was ready. She came home to us. She was weak and a slim figure of her former self though I still wondered at the muscled arms of her small frame, a result of countless years of housework when that still meant a physical ordeal. She spent most of the next couple of day’s in bed sleeping. She smiled a lot and we got to visit with her and hold her hand and chat. 
Christmas Eve came and her children and grandchildren all visited with presents and smiles and the occasional worried whispered conversation with my Mum and Dad as to how she was doing. Christmas Day she was very quiet and slept a lot. As the house was beginning to settle down she called my Mum into the room and very deliberately and unusually for a woman of her time thanked her for all she had done and told her she loved her. My Mum was somewhat taken aback but at that moment Gran asked her who it was that was standing behind her. 
There was no one there that Mum could see. 
Gran’s eyes focused on the spot behind her and she relaxed.

“It’s alright,” Gran said, “I know them.”

Mum said her smile was a beautiful thing at that moment.

She told Mum, “You can go down to the family now, I’m fine”.

Mum did, though to the end of her own days she often wondered why she did. 

As she went downstairs she could hear Gran talking quietly in the room.

Later Mum checked in on her to find her sleeping deeply and gently.

That night a Blackbird sang outside the house all night.

I remember looking out to try and see it.

I could not.

I should have known.

Gran had often taught me to watch out for Blackbirds.

“They are special to our family,” she would say, 
“Your Grandfather loved them and they come to warn us of things.”

“Whenever you see one, say a prayer to your Grandad.”

I still do.

The following morning, very early, Mum woke suddenly and went straight to check on her.

Gran had passed away.

She was still warm and she was smiling gently.

Mum called for the Priest and the Doctor and then carefully woke us all. I still remember that there were no tears in the house that morning. It all felt very peaceful and quiet. The Priest administered the Last Rites as he felt that she had only just gone before Mum found her. 
A little later myself and Mum stood in the room with Gran looking out the window. 

On the lawn a hen Blackbird was hopping around.

We smiled at that.

“Well”, I said, “She certainly got the death she had wanted!”

Mum told me then about the things that had happened the previous night and about Gran seeing someone in her room.

Someone who had made her smile.

“Do you think it was Grandad?” I asked.

At that moment, right in front of us, a Cock Blackbird, all shiny and bright yellow beaked flew down beside the Hen on the lawn outside. They greeted each other and flew off  together.

After that there was nothing else to say.

Gran had gotten the death she had asked for and we had received the little signs of her going.

In Ireland there has always been the custom of the “Cuireadh na Nollaig” the so called “Christmas Invitation” the feeling that a death at this time of the year is especially blessed and that the signs around it are powerful. Today, almost thirty years later I write this so that this story of my Gran’s passing may be remembered and may bring peace and hope to all who read it…

And perhaps the next time you see a Blackbird you might say a prayer for all your loved ones gone before you…

(Photo unattributed found on google)

Encountering the Crucified One: The Beginnings of Franciscan Christology as seen in three encounters of St. Francis with Jesus as depicted in the Legenda Major of St. Bonaventure

In this short article it is my intention to indicate the beginning of certain themes that will influence the future development of Franciscan Christology. We find them present, though in seed form as it were, in the conversion narrative of St. Francis as given in Bonaventure’s Legenda Major. 

To do this I will look at the three fundamental encounters with Christ that Francis has en route to his full conversion and embracing of a life of evangelical mendicancy. The first, his dream of a house filled with arms and knightly apparel while already on the road to battle; the second, his encounter with Christ under the guise of a leper; and, thirdly, the encounter with Christ through the crucifix of San Damiano.

In all three of these events we will see the seminal beginnings of elements and themes of an implicit Christology which will inform the life of Francis and the Franciscan movement through the ages. We will see that each of these events is characterised by an encounter with a hidden Christ who, when manifested or recognised through contemplative awareness, is then responded to by action and affective movement on the part of Francis. Thereby situating from the very beginning of the Franciscan vision the understanding that we must discern an apprehension of who Christ is, and how we are called into the fullness of life by Him, at the nexus of both contemplation of, and action on behalf of, the same Christ we encounter.

The first encounter: The Knightly Dream:

Bonaventure situates the first of the acts that we will look into at the very outset of Francis’ conversion. Post a period of illness that could “enlighten spiritual awareness” (LM 1:2) he tells us that Francis at this time is still in a state of ignorance as to both his future and the ability to discern God’s plan for himself. After charitably clothing a poor knight that he meets in the town he receives the first part of the knightly dream being shown “a large and splendid palace with military arms emblazoned with the insignia of Christ’s cross.” ( LM 1:3) The figure of Christ is present through the symbol of the cross. He is at one and the same time both the centre of the dream in its primary symbol and its hidden heart, just as surely as the meaning of the dream is hidden from Francis. Upon waking, Francis, whom Bonaventure tells us is not yet skilled in interpreting the symbolic schema of dreams, attempts to bring about its fulfilment by taking up arms. This course of action is summarily stopped by the second dream of the cycle wherein he is asked,

“Who can do more for you a Lord or a servant, a rich person or one who is poor?” (LM 1:3)

This time Francis recognises that the dream is inviting him into mystery. He realises that he has interpreted his future course incorrectly and asks,

“Lord what do you want me to do?” (LM 1:3)

When the Lord answers that he is to return to his town and there await a spiritual outcome he obeys immediately, the fruit of this actioned obedience being a spirit of care free joy. This care free joy is seen as the fruit of true obedience throughout the monastic tradition but is especially a fruit of it in the Franciscan vision of religious life.

Already in this encounter with the “hidden Christ” of the dream, aspects of just who Christ is for Francis, (and later the Franciscan movement), can be seen. He is firstly the one who calls us to joy. Joy that is revealed and accessed through conformity of our will to His will in obedience. Just as Christ conformed His will to that of the Father, so the follower of Christ, (and of Francis), will have to walk that path of obedience. For Francis setting out on the path of obedience is both a contemplative act, in the surrendering of the will to the hidden Christ of the dream, (“Lord what do you want me to do?”), and an affective action of instant obedience that frees him and brings a state of spiritual joy.

The second encounter: The Leper on the road.

Setting the scene of the second encounter Bonaventure tells us that Francis is still seeking the discernment of God’s will for himself while slowly separating himself from the “pressure of public business” (LM 1:4) We already see in Francis the beginnings of an oscillation between contemplative withdrawal and the call to the market place of action that will only find its balance in the later Spirit filled discernment of Sylvester and Clare. Francis is described now as a man in whom the heavenly flame has been kindled through the practice of fervent prayer, and it is in this spirit that he will meet the leper on the road. Recalling the earlier images of knightly aspirations Bonaventure begins the story by seeing Francis as a Knight intent on the conquering of himself for Christ and the encounter with the leper as one of the trials of chivalry that the great heroes of the romances would go through. Francis is even pictured on his horse, like a spiritual Galahad riding into battle. To begin we are told that even seeing the Leper in the distance struck him with “not a little horror” (LM 1:5) but that Francis overcame his feelings of repugnance and humbling himself by descending from the horse he gives the leper both the alms he seeks and a kiss. On resuming his seat he finds the Leper vanished, (to all of Bonaventure’s medieval primary audience this would have at once indicated that the Leper was either an Angel or even Christ Himself), and so Francis immediately begins to sing the praises of the Lord.

In this encounter with the Christ who hides beneath the guise of the poor and the marginalised, (the Christ of Matthew’s judgement scene), we see another seminal layer of Franciscan Christology laid down, wherein the contemplative withdrawal of the follower of Francis should go hand in hand with a growing awareness of the presence of Christ in all people and especially in the poor and particularly those exiled to the edges of society. Francis finds a silent Leper Christ. One who always assumes the lowest place and whose taking on of leprosy as His “disguise” issues a challenge to find the Lord God in the lowest place. Indeed, as this event happens while Francis is still trying to discern his own vocation, we can say that it is only in the letting go of our own privilege and ego, (dismounting from our horse as it were), that we become open enough to the revelation of the hidden silent Christ so that our purpose may be revealed to us. Bonaventure expressly demonstrates this movement as being essential in the following of Christ as in the very next paragraph he links the encounter with Christ as Leper to the vision Francis has of the crucified Jesus and the appropriation that Francis makes to himself, (an appropriation that we are all called to make), of the Gospel text to deny ourselves, take up our Cross and follow Christ.

This leads us beautifully to the third and final encounter we will consider.

The third encounter: The Christ of San Damiano

We find this encounter at the beginning of the second chapter of the Legenda. Here Christ is not hidden anymore, though His purpose and command are at first misunderstood by Francis. In the crucifix of San Damiano Francis continues his deepening dialogue with the Lord, “who became humbler even to accepting death.” He is “led by the Spirit” and enters the church to pray, and there beholds the crucifix. While the Christus figure of the San Damiano Cross is depicted as alive and triumphant He still bares the bleeding wounds and the loin cloth of the moment of crucifixion and death. Like the Fisher King of the Arthurian legends wounded and yet a healer, (a figure that Francis would probably have been familiar with), Christ is represented on the Cross both in His eternal divinity as the Lord of History and the impassable Logos, and at one and the same time, in His humanity as the suffering servant of Isaiah who silently endures. Here on the Cross of San Damiano Jesus is the Lamb of revelation, dead yet alive upon the Altar. In the triune perfection of the call that issues from the Cross telling him to, “go and repair my house, which as you see, is all being destroyed.” (LM 2:1) Francis once again moves from contemplation of the Crucified to action. Action which, though at first is misguided in its literal interpretation of the command, eventually bears fruit in not just rebuilt churches, but in the service of a universal Church who, in its chief shepherd, will recognise him as the one who will help in holding up the sinking edifice of the faith.

So we may see the unfolding conversion of Francis characterised by a growing realisation of just who Christ is. We are the witnesses, through Bonaventure, of the beginnings of a life lived for God alone. A life which, in its distinctive character and expression, will set the foundations of a Franciscan Christology that, arising from these charismatic and contemplative insights of Francis, will centre the movement on relationship with the Christ who is both near in the poor and the marginalised, and far above us as the hidden Lord of the castle of our knightly desires. He is revealed as the One whose sacramental presence will be venerated beneath the veils of leprosy and isolation just as truly as beneath those of bread and wine. Above all else, He is the crucified who calls us to share in His mission of reconciliation and peace, eternally suffering and dying, rising and reigning. It will be on these foundation stones that the vast work of Franciscan Christology will be built, always calling us back to the contemplation of our own moments of encounter with Christ, hidden or revealed, so as to lead us through Him, with Him and in Him to the building of the Kingdom within us and then within the world.

Br. Richard Hendrick OFM Cap

(Originally written as an essay for the Franciscan Formation Studies Course in Canterbury 2013)

Picture credits: Pics 1 & 3 Piero Cassentini, Pics 2 & 4 uncredited)

Queen of Carmel; Queen of Contemplation's Heights

Today we keep the Feast of Our Lady as Queen of Carmel...

From Old Testament times Carmel was seen as the mountain of prayer and contemplation, the place of encounter with God and longing for the Messiah. The Prophet Elijah spent time here and there founded a brotherhood of prophets, later Christian hermits gathered there and began the Carmelite Order seeking the way of Contemplation through the intercession of Mary as Queen of Carmel. Over the centuries the Carmelite family has given to the Church some of its greatest masters of prayer, meditation and the contemplative way. St.'s Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Therese of Lisieux, Teresea Benedicta, (all depicted in the Icon above), and so many others continue to lead us to the heights of prayer and trust in the mercy and love of God.

Our Franciscan family has great ties to Carmel as both communities have enriched each other over the years.
(The franciscan mystics St. Peter of Alcantara and Brother Francis deOsima were the spiritual directors to St. Teresa of Avila for example!)

Today, with the Carmelite family, we once again place ourselves and our prayer life under the patronage of Mary who calls us to the heights of prayer, to the heights of Carmel...

Below is the beautiful antiphon sung to Our Lady of Carmel, the Flos Carmeli:

Flower of Carmel,
Tall vine blossom laden;
Splendour of heaven,
Childbearing yet maiden.
None equals thee.

Mother so tender,
Who no man didst know,
On Carmel's children
Thy favours bestow.
Star of the Sea.

Strong stem of Jesse,
Who bore one bright flower,
Be ever near us
And guard us each hour,
who serve thee here.

Purest of lilies,
That flowers among thorns,
Bring help to the true heart
That in weakness turns
and trusts in thee.

Strongest of armour,
We trust in thy might:
Under thy mantle,
Hard press'd in the fight,
we call to thee.

Our way uncertain,
Surrounded by foes,
Unfailing counsel
You give to those
who turn to thee.

O gentle Mother
Who in Carmel reigns,
Share with your servants
That gladness you gained
and now enjoy.

Hail, Gate of Heaven,
With glory now crowned,
Bring us to safety
Where thy Son is found,
true joy to see.
O Flower of Carmel!

Homily for the Easter Vigil 2018

Homily for the Easter Vigil 2018

The Angel said, “You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: He has risen, He is not here. See here is the place where they laid Him. But you must go and tell His disciples and Peter: He is going before you to Galilee; it is there you will see Him, just as He told you.” Mk. 16:8

We have arrived at the place of fulfilment.

We have arrived at the place where all our longing, all our desiring falls away.

We have arrived at the moment of Resurrection, not just of Christ, but through Him and with Him and in Him, a resurrection of all that is.

Long lost in self, long lost in despair, long lost in death we had felt the coldness of a life that seems to have no meaning, no essence, no hope…

we had felt the darkness of a wintered night without and even more so within…

we know what the long night of sin has done to us…

it has worn us down…

it has shamed us…

it has taken from us all that we hoped for…

as sin always does…

since the garden we have known its false promises and since the garden we have thought them real, only to stumble and fall again and again…

And yet for thousands of years we have hoped for deliverance, for freedom, for restoration…

We have been promised such in the proclamations of prophet and in the whispers of patriarchs, in the songs of the holy women and in the innocence of children we have seen another way, we have been recalled to righteousness, we have been invited again and again into covenant…

and we have heard that it is possible that the God who is Love never abandons His creation. Never abandons His people, never abandons you, never abandons me…

And He has promised…

he has declared that not only will He be Emmanuel, the God with Us, but He will be Jesus, the One who saves us from our sins. How? By facing down our darkness. He who is light will descend into the darkness of our sin. God from God, Light from Light, true God from True God; the everlasting Word of the Father will descend, will empty Himself and descend into the very bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh… this is how much He loves us…

He will become us and in becoming us He will face our darkness, consume our sin, heal our wounds…

He will be our sacrifice, the only sacrifice acceptable to the Father for in His humanity He will descend to heal us and in His divinity He will raise us up to our eternal home in the very heart of the communion of Love that we call God…

Yes He will descend and in descending touch the darkness, touch the despair, touch the sin, touch the misery of our selfishness and for just a moment, for just a seeming moment seem to be consumed. He will touch death, death on a cross. He will touch your death, all that is dead in you, all that is dead in me…

just for a moment…

they touch…

they embrace…

they kiss…

and from the darkened Golgotha sky the source of life and light breathes out his Spirit over the chaos we have caused…

And then…

and then He conquers!

Darkness is overcome by Light

Death is overcome by Life

Despair is overcome by Hope

Love… Love…Love

conquers all!

He is Risen!

Alleluia!

He is Risen!

This is the heart of existence, the heart of the story of creation, this is what it is all about and always was and will be about…

He descends and in that universal moment of Resurrection I am raised too, you are raised too, and crackling along the great faultline of history forwards and backwards into the world of the dead and the world of those yet to come all feel that great earthquake of power as death is conquered, the gates of hell are broken and the lamb reveals himself as the Lion of Judah

and He goes before us…

listen to the words of the Angel…

He goes before us…

We will see Him there just as He told us…

He goes before us…

the One who was foretold through the ages…

the One who emptied Himself of Divine Glory so as to become one with us…

goes before us…

The One who suffered and died and rose again goes before us…

He goes before me…

He goes before you…

Do you know what that means?

It is the great Easter secret…

from now on there is never a moment in your life or in my life, never a joy, a suffering, a place, or a time where He is not already there, waiting for you to arrive and be present to Him so that He may pour out love and light and power upon you… The resurrection is not just a moment in history it is happening now…

in this moment and in every moment we will ever face!

Our choice tonight and in each moment is to liberate His power in us, to allow Him to be the God He is who waits until we allow Him in… until we become present to Him…

Otherwise we miss it… we can be like the disciples who hear the word of hope and power and dismiss it… it can’t be we think! I had my plans and they failed… I had my hopes and they failed… I know who I am and I am a failure…

So I will dismiss the easter message tonight and descend back into my worry, my pain, my story of how things should be, could have been, would have been…

No not tonight! I beg you not tonight!

Leave the tomb of the past behind… walk out into the garden of the new morning of God’s Love.

He has died to show you how much you are loved. Your God has died for you!

He has risen to show you how much you are loved. Your God has risen for you!

He has gone ahead of you to prepare a place for you. Your God goes ahead of you!

No more fear of the future then!

No more regret for the past then!

As the Lamb He has cancelled your past

As the Lion He fights for your future…

So we on this holiest of nights begin again with the God of beginning

We say to Him again Lord that I may see! Lord that I may follow! Here I am Lord in all my mess, my pain, my glorious brokenness! Here I am for you! Let me begin again this day, this very moment. Not my will but yours…

What have we to fear?

We have it from the Angel’s mouth…

He has risen…

He is not here in the place of the tomb…

He is going before you…

It is there you will see Him…

Just as He told you…

And let us pray: Lord I will follow you into the easter light of the life you have prepared for me…

The Twelve Are Alive In Me

The Twelve Are Alive In Me

There are days

when it feels

as though all the twelve

live in this poor disciple’s heart.

For, depending on the moment’s mystery

each has his place and his preaching

is heard in my soul.

Peter is present

A rock and foundation stone

thrice cleft by betrayal

and cleansed by tears at

cockcrow

but fitting fully now nonetheless,

this rough fisherman of grace,

overawed at Love that does not depart

in the presence of sin

or even self satisfied importance,

but teaches patiently

through the impetuosity

of one who would

build tents to contain heaven

on a hill,

and swing a leg over the side

to begin the water walk of wonder

until storm tossed seas

recall a quavering heart to the lesson of humility

and later call “Quo Vadis?”

to One whose way he will follow to

an upside down end.

O yes.

Peter is present in me.

Andrew beckons too,

the announcer of the Lord.

First called and first to call others

“Come!”

he cries in me, “I have found Him!”

And this is the life of Andrew in me

finding and losing and finding again;

only to lose again so that I may call others to

the finding in their turn,

and in that struggle to perhaps

at the last, find all that I have longed for

and sought in every teacher;

the One from whom the knowledge comes,

the One who is the Wisdom of the Ages

the Lamb walking wild towards His

Paschal place while saying all the while

“Come and See…”

“Come and See…”

O yes. Andrew is present in me.

The Sons of Thunder have their place in me,

brothers both and twice blessed

James and John; lions of the Lord,

tamed slowly into Apostles of

Mercy and Love;

they shine the light

on all unreconciled in me,

all that is yet to yield

to the gentleness of grace,

transforming fire into fire,

light into light, they smoulder within

until finally alight, the mystic flame

burns away my blindness

and gives the eagle’s eye,

the pilgrim’s staff

to see and walk the way

beyond the way

of this world

Matthew dwells here too.

Tax Collector, Publican,

who yet holds the priestly name

too in his heart, even in his broken days.

Forgiven his compromise

with the world and called clean

from the heart of horror

by One who sudden stands unbidden

in the midst of the unclean place

to cleanse and call.

His story told me to hope

that I too could be called

not once only but daily

from the hard taxation

of sin’s slavery

and its distractions to become

a living Gospel

of His grace

evangelising all

in exultation

over mercy found, not once only,

but many times,

where even the tale of my betrayals

becomes a blessed gate to grace

for all who hear.

O yes. Matthew is present in me.

Philip and Bartholomew

Brothers of the road

and companions

on the way

are found in me.

Spirit led preachers and questioners too

seeking wisdom’s light and imparting

wisdom’s blessings all in the power of

the Word.

In their pain they preached

and fulfilled their longing

to see with their own eyes

and touch with their own hands.

They teach the lesson of being open to Angels

met upon the road in all the disguises

of grace, stepping lightly and not long upon the earth

they dance across deserts and invite me

to flow freely in faith

O yes. Philip and Bartholomew are present in me.

Thomas too is here,

sometimes still appearing as

Didymus the Doubter;

needing the touch of truth,

the gaping wound that proves Love’s

Labour birthing blessedness in blindness.

Yet also, and more often

he in me affirms faith and its freedom

describing divinity in mystery

and Lordship in light

touching presence, yes

by becoming the very vessel

in which is seen and heard

the One who is the face

of the Father.

O yes. Thomas is present in me.

Three come forward now

Each with their own share

Of me, in me, with me,

Simon, James and Jude

Of the first two named

I owe the allegiance of the east,

for into the sun rise they walked

their way of faith together

once healed of the heaviness

of seeming loss and ruin on Calvary’s Cross.

In its sign they bought with their blood too

the blessing of a harvest

still to be reaped, not just in distant lands

but in this my soul that lies too often in darkness

and yearns for resurrection dawn.

Of the third what can I say

but that his gift is hope, perhaps

the greatest grace of all save love,

but can love be kindled

save at hope’s hearth?

He too lived his hope unto the gates of Heaven

where hope fades into faith’s fulfilment

and where I pray each day these noble three

may yet bring me and all I love safely home.

O yes. Simon and James and Jude are present in me.

And yes…

There is a Judas place

in which I am the betrayer,

whose faith is so frail

it cannot imagine a mercy

wide enough for me

and hurtles instead headlong

through temptation’s tumult

to bestow a kiss,

by which the silver coin of self

turns to doubt’s dust

in an unknowing dawn, a mere second away from resurrection

May I be saved from it by this sacred knowing that

O yes. Judas is present in me.

But there is too a blessedness in me,

though not of me,

that kindles faith and hope and love

even in the face of my own weary weakness,

and calls me yet, as they were called

from out the ordinary occupation of the day to know

that these Apostles, all alive in me,

are spokes of one great wheel of love,

that turns the stars and drives the sun across the sky

and pours upon us the uncreated light by which we see the light!

Known to those twelve first as Rabbi, then as Christ, and finally as Lord,

He lights my way, loves me and all that is

into the blessing of being

and asks me now, as then he asked, and he now asks you,

“Will you not come and see?”

O yes. He is present in me.

Moon Memories

Moon Memories:

Once,

The moon followed

me home,

I know,

because I watched her

out the back window of the car.

Occasionally slipping

behind trees or buildings

like a secret agent,

she kept up with us

effortlessly,

as I strained against

the straps of my seat

to meet her gaze.

I felt her interest

and her smile,

happy to have made

a new friend.

Once,

not afraid of the night,

but of the day

that would follow,

I was invited

by my Mother

to gaze on the Moon

outside our house,

and greet her as

Our Lady’s lamp

protecting all,

guiding all home,

wisdom

passed down

from her Father,

whom I had never met,

but always felt

I knew.

He loved the Moon

she said.

There is hereditary

of the heart,

as well as of the blood,

it seems.

To this day

I miss her calls

that would begin always

with,

Have you seen the Moon

tonight?

For I cannot look up

at the Moon

without looking

within

too.

Once,

I spent the night

in a wood made pure

silver

by her presence,

and felt the life in every thing

stir and sing

and dance

in a wild celebration

that is hidden from

the day.

I sat stone still

and watched

Foxes play

about me

and a Badger

pass by like an ancient sage

busy on his own quest,

and I believed

in magic again

by her light.

Once,

I remember her

appearing during the

long drawn out days

of dry schooling,

and seeing her

still serenity

so far above

the awfulness

of that age

made me breathe out

a breath

I did not even know

I had been holding

on to for years.

She felt like a friend

checking in.

We greeted each other

then,

as we do to this day,

each noticing the other

in the blessed acceptance

of being.

Once,

Sick and fevered I rose

gasping in the middle

of a winter’s night

and pulled back the curtain

to find her shining

over snow so newly fallen

that not a flake

had been disturbed

but glowed in her gaze

cascading in curves

over a street I knew

but saw again

for the first time

now softened

by snowlight’s reflection

of her blessed touch.

I looked and looked

at this gracious gift

of enchantment’s echo

until I felt I was being

looked at in turn

and blessed too.

In the morning,

I woke

well.

Once,

I walked the pier

between my parents

on the night before

I left to follow

the path.

We watched her rise

together,

in silence

and listened to a mandolin

playing in the distance.

We did not have to speak,

the Moon sang for us,

soul songs only we could hear.

Always remember this night,

they said later.

As if I could

do anything

else?

Once,

Feeling bereft and lost

I caught sight of her

rising over a strange city

(Though I remember her,

and the feelings,

but not the city it was.)

and I did not feel lost

anymore

How could you be lost

when you are always

under her graced gaze?.

How could you be alone

when everyone you know

and love is beneath her blessing

too?

I asked myself.

Once,

I saw her,

loom so large

as to almost

be alarming,

bedecked in harvest

gold and heavy seeming,

she lit the land beneath

so beautifully

that the cattle on the hills

cried out to her,

and the birds began their chorus

for a dawn

that was yet hours away.

I danced in her light

that night,

beneath the trees,

a slow sandaled

shuffle of monkish sort,

and bowed deeply

as she passed.

How could you not?

When all around

and within

was

psalming

celebration

of her compline

completeness.

Once,

I watched her rise

sickle sharp

over Assisi.

As though making manifest

the unseen divine smile

hanging in the air

over this holy place

where joy was married

to peace in the song

of brother-sisterhood.

I smiled back and felt

the saint smile too

behind it all

and wondered what

his long silent nights

of prayer

must have been like

measured only by her dance

across the sky

slowly revealing her face

to him,

as grace comes gently

to fill us

only as we empty

and so seem

to disappear

into divine darkness

just like

her.

Candlemas Feb 2^nd 2018