As the Sands

Unnumbered as the sands,
untraceable as rain,
our tears have fallen in your hands,
each one a separate pain.

And yet you know them all,
O Wisdom deep and deep,
for out of nothingness you called
the very eyes that weep.

You gather every one,
each drop of doubt and dread,
and number them as you have done
the hairs upon our heads.

As you have known the stars
and call them all by name,
you know our sorrows and our scars,
and make them yours the same.

So every sparrow's fall
you've taken as your own.
Lord, into every grave you've crawled;
our dying you have known

that we may know your rise.
The wounds and tears you got
you carry where the sparrow flies:
the altar of our God.

Sand from Pismo Beach, California. Components are primarily quartz, chert, igneous rock, and shell fragments. Photo By Wilson44691: Mark A. Wilson, Department of Geology, The College of Wooster – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4436177

Groaning

Today, hell cries out groaning
the grave itself falls ill.
How loud the voice of stone here
that so long had been still!

The maw that fed on Abel
and gaped to swallow Cain
finds nothing on its table:
The feast is swept away.

Another son of Adam
himself lays down as bread
to feed the endless fathom
that long on Adam fed,

and biting down, and choking,
is hell itself disgorged.
The doors of death are broken,
and life is pouring forth!

So every post and fortress
of hell on living ground
shall feel its dying throes yet.
They all shall be cast down!

For all this ground is shaking,
awaking those inside.
A light on us is breaking,
and death itself has died!

St. George’s Church, Haguenau, Alsace, painted wood, 1496 By © Ralph Hammann – Wikimedia Commons – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63915573

Donut Run

This world keeps rearranging
my every push and pull,
when I would hold unchanging
and imperturbable:
Lord, let me keep my rituals,
though all else goes to hell.
If we have drink and victuals,
all manner shall be well.

See, Saturday's for donuts,
whatever comes to pass,
and has been so since Covid
closed meet-ups and the Mass,
since I could put my mask on,
grab coffee piping hot,
and drink it in the bright sun
out in the parking lot.

I still go every weekend,
as regular as clocks:
Through wind and rain and heatwave
I make my exodus,
and even if it's snowing
I get one spinach tart
and one old-fashioned donut,
as manna for my heart.

Take not from me, O Father,
this ordinary rite,
this gift of flour and water
and moment of delight.
Though this be nothing holy,
no heav'nly Eucharist,
it's earthly comfort wholly—
O, bless it, God, for this.

Doughnuts in a display case at a coffee shop By WestportWiki – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24823025

Pass Away

The fog that shrouds a quiet street
and touches Monday's gloom
with ordinary mystery
will burn away by noon.

These dandelions lift their face
to watch returning flocks
'til other flowers take their place
and breezes blow the clocks.

Like anger surging in the blood
or this deep-set despair,
the sudden rushing of flash floods,
the storm that clears the air:

This henbit gazing at the sky,
lets loose its purple tongue
to sing of praise and then to die—
so all our songs are sung.

This is our sorrow and our joy:
All things shall pass away
except the dim and distant morn
that whispers lasting day,

and it will bud a rising sun 
and blossom into noon
and sing while endless ages run—
O, Lord, may it be soon!

Henbit Nashville, Tennessee By Kaldari – Own work, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8640496

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