All Ascends

 All Ascends

Even the wounds went with Him,

windwards, ever up.

Points of pain, now portals,

doorways divine, our worst wedded

to grace in glory,

Like makers marks upon glittered gold,

He bears them now as blessing,

before the astonishment of angels

the amazement of apostles;

our brokenness that beat

iron into ire before God’s grace,

pricked and pierced,

hammered heavily into soft humanity

so to brand the bearer

as slave, as sinner, as sin,

a punishment for preaching peace.

But with breath and beating heart 

He arose again, 

transfigured and transforming all,

a resurrection, yes rightly, but in Him 

all rises, all shines, shimmers, shakes

free of first failure, and at last 

faithwards flys!

Upwards ever upwards 

He brings all home,

carrying the crossmarks as 

five fiery flames,

as proof of pain, 

but more so love, 

now lamps to light our way 

for world’s wilding,

heaven’s homing, 

and all humanity

at last restored in 

resurrection’s resting.

For He by dulled dark nail and 

silver sharpened spear 

our remaking redeemed, 

who now ascends to stand again 

in bright blessedness before 

the One who walked with us 

in Eden’s even light 

and all called us in 

as Adam and as Eve, 

now newly seen, 

as from our long limbo 

we are loosed by love 

and set at last anew upon 

the throne of grace,

for through Him death has died, 

in Him right has risen,

and with Him 

all ascends.

.

A meditation poem for the vigil of the Ascension, celebrated in Ireland on the 6th Sunday of Easter.

Beach Breakfast; a meditation poem for Easter Friday

 Meditation poem for Easter Friday:

Beach Breakfast.

This morning,

at the 

turning 

of the 

tide of night

into the 

blue 

of the

new 

day,

we sat with 

God.

Not doing 

anything.

Not saying 

anything.

Just sitting

on the beach

of being,

while all around 

us

darkness dissolved

into dawn,

and the 

waking birds 

sang

their psalms

of daily

astonishment

at the gift

of 

beginning,

again.

Then,

we ate and drank

God

for 

breakfast.

For what 

else 

would you 

call

the first meal 

of 

the day?

Breakfast

or

Eucharist;

whatever you 

call it,

it happened,

happens,

will happen,

every 

morning.

We gather.

We sit.

We offer.

We receive,

and we are 

received.

We consume

and,

slowly,

over a lifetime 

of 

mornings,

we are

consumed,

until only

God

is seen,

and we see

only

God.

For

we become

what

we eat.

Don't we?

Then,

after breakfast,

we tumble

into the day

touching

both 

its order

and 

its chaos

and

knowing both 

as gift,

as blessing,

as beloved,

as grace.

Beholding 

above the 

head of each

and all

we meet,

a flame,

a spark,

of burning bush

beauty,

perhaps forgotten,

or even

unnoticed,

by inner eyes

long used to

downcast

distraction.

So we,

food fueled

and breakfast

blessed,

will

touch

a passing 

shoulder,

or elbow

and 

in the moment 

of their startled

stillness,

smile at their

old young

heart

waking to its

reflected

beauty

as we offer 

His 

ancient

invitation

to the beach

of being:

"Come 

and have 

breakfast."

(Written 2019)

The Art of Resurrection: A meditation poem for Easter Thursday

 The Art of Resurrection 

How is 

it

possible

not to

believe in 

Resurrection;

when daily

it is

accomplished 

around

you?

When from

sleep's 

dark

and purple

night

the Divine 

rhythm

so long laid 

down

pulses playing

and

form is freed

while

colour

washes

the sky

clean

and

the 

birds 

sing their

holy astonishment

at seeing

the

light

again

for 

one more

day.

Where 

were 

you

then,

this dawning

when

the daily 

Easter

exultet took

place?

To what noise 

were your ears 

tuned?

To what sights 

your eyes?

Did you 

begin

with faith in 

the

beauty 

that awaited 

you 

beyond 

the door

of your 

snoozing senses;

or did 

you 

soldier slumber 

at the 

tomb of 

your yesterdays

unwilling 

to have

your gaze 

lifted

to sky's summoning

to a

new

start?

No matter,

this 

miracle awaits 

you,

every day,

with 

divine patience.

Come then

and join the 

dawn chorus

of delight

and allow 

sun, 

and sky, 

and sea;

bird, 

and bush, 

and beast

to teach you

the ancient 

wild resurrection 

art

of 

blessed

beginning.