The Birds

The green-gold glimmer of a crow-black wing;
the grackles in a great Hitchcockian flock;
the myriad starlings' single living thing
ascending as I turn onto the block;
the bright burnt orange an insouciant robin shows
against the tawny grass just greening there,
reclaiming what was lost to these last snows;
the killdeers' clatter as they take the air:
	have brought the dull and leaden year alive
	to quiver with each quickening, flashing wing,
	and earthbound I am lifted right along,
	borne up by the relentless throbbing drive,
	the turning, tumbling, rich upthrusting spring
	awakened by the day's full-throated song.

American Crow. Hockanum River Linear Trail. East Hartford, CT USA By Paul Danese – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=156236872

Apple

“Do you see this woman?
When I entered your house, you did not give me water for my feet,
but she has bathed them with her tears
and wiped them with her hair.
You did not give me a kiss,
but she has not ceased kissing my feet since the time I entered.
You did not anoint my head with oil,
but she anointed my feet with ointment.
So I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven;
hence, she has shown great love.
But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.”
—Luke 7:36-50

The righteous men refused to eat the apple—
their eyes were never opened to their sin.
They never got down in the mud to grapple
with all the filth that comes out from within.

But she has tasted, and she knows its flavor:
The skin was red and firm beneath her touch,
and it was sweet—the sweetest—so she savored,
and well she knows she is forgiven much.

Then why should she withhold the alabaster?
No, let her perfumed prayer like incense rise,
and let them stare, though none will dare to ask her
what is it draws this torrent from her eyes?

They sit at feast, yet they have tasted nothing
except their scorn to see her at his feet,
but she is sated with her Lord's anointing,
for here is something more than apples sweet

and only they who taste and they who hunger
will one day know the pleasure of that feast,
when he who came to seek them in the mud here
bows down himself to wash their dirty feet.

The Ointment of the Magdalene (Le parfum de Madeleine). James Tissot, c. 1900 – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2007, 00.159.214_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10957535

Some Mother’s Son

Jesus journeyed to a city called Nain,
and his disciples and a large crowd accompanied him.
As he drew near to the gate of the city,
a man who had died was being carried out,
the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.
A large crowd from the city was with her.
When the Lord saw her,
he was moved with pity for her and said to her,
“Do not weep.”
He stepped forward and touched the coffin;
at this the bearers halted,
and he said, “Young man, I tell you, arise!”
The dead man sat up and began to speak,
and Jesus gave him to his mother.
—Luke 7:11-17

Some mother's son, they carried him
out of the city gates
and met the prophet coming in,
but coming there too late.

A mother's son himself, he stopped—
What was it he beheld?
Him mother, weeping her own loss,
and on the bier, himself?

The days when he had thought his strength
invincible were past,
and numbering his own days' length,
he could not call them back.

Not if the angels of the sky
bore him upon their wings
could he recall the days gone by
or stop their hurrying.

His mother—would she weep like this
or stand in silent grief
that her days should outnumber his?
He won't be there to see.

For her sake, no!  But this he can:
The breath begins to stir.
He takes the dead man's living hand
and gives him back to her.

Brooklyn Museum – The Resurrection of the Widow’s Son at Nain (La résurrection du fils de la veuve de Naïm) – James Tissot – overall – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.115_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195957

Let Me Know Nothing

When I came to you, brothers, proclaiming the mystery of God, I did not come with sublimity of words or of wisdom. For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified. I came to you in weakness and fear and much trembling, and my message and my proclamation were not with persuasive (words of) wisdom, but with a demonstration of spirit and power, so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God.
—1 Corinthians 2:1-5

Let me know nothing, Lord, but you,
and let me know you crucified,
to look on all things through your wounds
and see the world then by your light.

So shine on all the feeble, weak,
that weakness is made glorious,
as if a crown for heaven's king
were burning here in mortal dust.

And show me folly through your lens—
refocus my own world-wise eyes
to see the wisdom that upends
and lifts the trampled to the skies;

to see their outstretched, empty hands
as treasures more than what they hold—
as earthen vessels ready stand
to catch where mercy's overflowed;

to know the one who stumbles now
is sharing in your burden, Lord,
for we all falter, falling down
beneath the very weight you bore.

My savior, show me what is true,
that you will raise the felled and marred.
Let me know always, only you,
and know you everywhere you are.

Amphorae stacking: reconstruction of how amphorae might have been stacked on a galley. (Now in Bodrum Castle, Turkey). A galley (from Greek γαλέα galea) is an ancient ship which is entirely propelled by human oarsmen. By Ad Meskens – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5661567

Touch

He began to teach them
that the Son of Man must suffer greatly
and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes,
and be killed, and rise after three days.
He spoke this openly.
Then Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him.
At this he turned around and, looking at his disciples,
rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan.
You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.”
He summoned the crowd with his disciples and said to them,
“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself,
take up his cross, and follow me.
For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,
but whoever loses his life for my sake
and that of the gospel will save it.”
—Mark 8:27-35

O Son of Man, come touch my mind
to think as you would do.
Let every falsehood fall behind
as I draw near to you.

O Word of heaven, touch my ears
to hear you speak my name.
Condemn me not for doubt or fear,
but call me out of shame.

O glorious healer, touch my eyes
to see as you have seen:
The cross becomes the tree of life
that grows on Calvary.

O carpenter, come touch my hands
to bear with you that cross,
to labor as your love demands
and not to count the cost.

O, touch my feet and bid me walk
where you have led the way,
and keep my steps on solid rock
though I may tread the waves.

O, come at last and touch my heart
that it may beat like yours,
and burning with the love of God 
may live forevermore.

Sopron ( Hungary ). Sopron Museum – Lapidarium: Grave monument for Salvius – detail: Tree of Life Photo By Wolfgang Sauber – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=95048844

Good & Evil

The God who met us in the cool of evening
and let us see the sunlight on his face
now hides from us as first we hid in Eden,
while good and evil gladly take his place.

But surely they will save us from what's coming:
They'll not sit idle while we weep and pray
or silent stand to see our children crumbling
to fall like ashes into open graves.

But when the evening falls, bereft and empty,
the tallies of our goodness fall like leaves
for no one comes to meet us with a welcome,
and no one weeps with us in all our grief.

We weep, but still the desert's dry and thirsty—
the good we do can only do so much.
And still the serpent stings us without mercy,
reminding us of all that we have lost:

The wonder and the beauty we were given,
the home we've never known, but know its theft
because we took the only thing forbidden.
Now good and evil's all that we have left.

Not 'til one comes who knows the loss of Eden,
whose goodness is no substitute for love,
who does not turn away even from evil—
not until then will we see God with us.

The Garden of Eden in the left panel of Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights By Hieronymus Bosch – This file has been extracted from another file, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=148816

Be With Us There

Not only in the broken bread,
the cup we bless and share:
Be present in the feasts we spread
and in the blessing prayer.
Where hunger and your gifts are wed,
where tables once were bare,
wherever we are truly fed,
O Lord, be with us there.

From Eden we were sent away
but you were not cast out,
and yet down every road we take
we find you there somehow.
You scatter food along the way
and rain into our drought.
You are the light of each new day
and manna on the ground.

And somehow, too, you are the road
and you the journey's end,
and everywhere we come and go
you journey as a friend.
Then when the sky with sunset glows,
Lord, stay with us and rest.
We know you as we've always known:
in breaking of the bread.

Carl Moll – Speisezimmer I By Carl Moll – Lempertz, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=46035613

Bright

We live our lives in darkness
and fumble for the truth;
this dim and shadowed starshine
is bright as day to you.
And what to us is hidden
lies open to your sight,
for bidden or unbidden,
your presence fills our night.

We cannot bear the sunlight—
our vision is not strong—
so as a lantern's wan light 
you hid your burning dawn.
But even that is blinding
when all we've known is dark,
and, oh, what is this lightning
awakend in our hearts?

We walk the shade as pilgrims
who barely know our names,
and only learn we're tinder
when we have met your flame.
And then, O living glory,
you blossom in our night,
and make of us your morning,
and all the world is bright!

The Aygerlich lake By MEDIACRAT, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11600807

Come All Whose Hearts

Thus says the LORD:
Say to those whose hearts are frightened:
Be strong, fear not!
Here is your God,
he comes with vindication;
with divine recompense
he comes to save you.
Then will the eyes of the blind be opened,
the ears of the deaf be cleared;
then will the lame leap like a stag,
then the tongue of the mute will sing.
Streams will burst forth in the desert,
and rivers in the steppe.
The burning sands will become pools,
and the thirsty ground, springs of water.
—Isaiah 35:4-7a

Come all whose hearts are frightened
and blinded by their tears,
for Christ the dawn arising
like day is drawing near,
and you who sit within the dark
will see, at last, the brightest spark.

Come all whose hearts are muted
by this world's angry noise,
for Christ, in our confusion,
speaks out, a still, small voice.
You've kept your silence for so long,
but you will raise the joyful song.

Come all whose hearts are burning,
are withered in their drought,
for Christ, our deepest yearning,
splits heaven and pours down.
The living water, gentle rain,
will bring you back to life again.

Come all whose hearts are broken—
though no step can you make—
for Christ, the Word, is spoken
and meets you on the way.
He makes our brokenness his own,
and all the wounded shall be whole.

Desna river, feeder of the Southern Bug, at dawn. Ukraine, Vinnytsia Raion By George Chernilevsky – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=82439234

Abyss

Was there a moment, O omnipotent,
when you decided you would forfeit all,
or was it always present, this intent,
O changeless and eternal one, to fall?

I am your image but am not yourself:
When powerless I plunge, it's by surprise.
See, I'm your image, so—I must confess—
I thought that I, like you, would only rise

but down I go.  I heard my teachers say
that things like this are gifts to offer up,
but now I think they're wrong about the way:
These gifts drip down into the waiting cup,

and it is bitter, bitter, as you know
who took and blessed and drank it to the dregs.
And so I ask again, when did you go
from wanting life to crossing death's doorstep?

These creatures that you made don't have a choice:
We just sink down, relentlessly depressed
into the pit where no one lifts their voice—
and is it there we nestle on your breast?

We find you, Lord, beneath the deep abyss,
borne down beyond the depths that we can bear,
as if you'd settled down to wait for us.
O, can it be that you were always there?

Autrice: Francesca KIX D’Errico Sito dell’autrice: scubakix.blogspot.com Fonte: lunedì 20 novembre 2006 (file) Note: it:Cristo degli abissi The original uploader was Yoruno at Italian Wikipedia. – Transferred from it.wikipedia to Commons. – original source scubakix.blogspot.com, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2739259