Fig Tree

Originally for this Sunday, but being posted on the Annunciation:

The fig tree does not blossom;
no grape swells on the vine
that twines around the crossbeam—
yet we shall drink the wine.

And though your arms are empty,
and withered is your root
as barren as the fig tree,
you, too, shall bear good fruit.

For something sweet is growing
to burden barren wood,
its sap forever flowing,
its roots where Adam stood.

It blossomed in the desert
with Moses drawing near,
the Godhead fully present—
Take off your sandals here

and see the flame that dances
where nothing yet had bloomed:
It burns along your branches,
but you are not consumed.

A fount in you is flowing
and never will it cease,
for Christ himself is growing
all on our barren trees.

Traditional icon of Our Lady of the Burning Bush (Neopalimaya Kupina). By Anonymous – http://days.pravoslavie.ru/Images/ii2914&263.htm, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3639213

Eve of the Annunciation

This is the final moment of “before,”
the last day of our unheard crying out.
Tomorrow comes what's never come before:
The first drop ending eras of our drought.

Unseen, as minuscule as all our hope:
one drop, but it's enough to break the light
and show the wonders hidden from our scope
since first we hid ourselves from heaven's sight.

One drop tomorrow, presaging a flood—
and all our fears of drowning in that day
are washed of all the centuries of mud
that clogged our wheels—it opens up a way.

Our vision of the world breaks all apart
in colors that were always buried there
when heaven beats within a human heart.
You come, O Christ, to lay all heaven bare.

Today, though, all the sky is merely blue,
unclouded, empty, gaping, barren, dry.
Tomorrow, Lord, when Mary welcomes you,
your wonders will begin to fill our sky.

A colorful rainbow and ring-billed gull By Rhododendrites – OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=132660372

Lift My Eyes

A riff on Psalm 121:

I lift my eyes to the hills—
Where will I find my help?
Is it in racking up my kills,
Is it in mortar shells?

No, I will not rely
on gun or sword or stone.
Though fighter jets dissect the sky,
my help is God alone.

You stand upon the heights
to scout my every move;
though you may have me in your sights,
God has me in his love.

I crawl as low, as deep
as mountain peaks are high:
The God who watches will not sleep,
and will not shut his eyes.

The sunlight will not strike,
nor yet the light of the moon.
Your bullets will be turned aside—
or I will meet them soon,

and it will be my blood
that stains the place I stand.
And on the hills or in the mud,
we both are in his hand.

Even if I should die,
I will not strike you down.
But even so, I lift my eyes:
The hills can't help me now.

Albert Bierstadt – Among the Sierra Nevada, California – Google Art Project – IQE1CY9y_Rfy5A — Google Arts & Culture, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22007259

Burning Yet

Jesus took Peter, John, and James
and went up the mountain to pray.
While he was praying his face changed in appearance
and his clothing became dazzling white.
And behold, two men were conversing with him, Moses and Elijah,
who appeared in glory and spoke of his exodus
that he was going to accomplish in Jerusalem.
Peter and his companions had been overcome by sleep,
but becoming fully awake,
they saw his glory and the two men standing with him.
—Luke 9:28b-36

I've walked the valley, and I've climbed the mountain
to chase the hints and glimpses of your face,
and still do I believe I'll see your bounty
here in this place.

But it's a hard road, this land of the living,
and I a stone that rolls along its tracks—
compassionate as stone and as forgiving
until it cracks.

I break and seek you still through all my days here—
how rarely is my way lit by a spark!
Where is the light that guides me toward salvation
through all the dark?

But darkness is not dark to you—I glimpse it
in moments when I cannot trust my sense,
that as I wait for night to be transfigured
it's burning yet;

that every inch of road runs over Tabor;
that every step I take is in the light
that you have hidden in a human savior,
the heart of Christ.

And my own heart, world-weary and unfeeling,
will melt into your glory when it's shown.
The light is always here: Though I can't see it,
it brings me home.

ALG169046 The Transfiguration, 1594-95 (oil on canvas) by Carracci, Lodovico (1555-1619) oil on canvas 438×268 Pinacoteca Nazionale, Bologna, Italy Alinari Italian, out of copyright

Lodovico Carracci, 1594- http://www.valtorta.org/the_transfiguration_defaultpage.asp, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8768456

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

First Station: Repost

I. Jesus Is Condemned

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

“Behold the man!” So Pilate cries;
we turn and lift our jaded eyes
to look upon our king
now crowned with thorn, condemned to die.
We hail him, shouting, “Crucify
the maker of all things!

“No king but Caesar will we have,
no heaven but an open grave.
Barabbas shall go free!”
The ancient yoke we have cast off:
Christ bows his head to show his love.
The Pasch he shall complete.

He goes as prophets had foretold,
the road before him from of old.
He goes, the Great Amen.
And we, the lambs his arm enfolds,
the people that his might upholds,
will wash our hands again.

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.

This is a poem I wrote and published here last year, the first of a whole series on the traditional Catholic Stations of the Cross. You can buy a download of the whole series, including files for easy printing or reading on your e-reader, for $5 here: https://bluemay.gumroad.com/l/WtWSotC

Ephphatha!

You speak, Lord, and I listen,
words written on my heart;
my soul, though, does not quicken,
and still my heart is hard.
I hear, but I am deaf yet;
am blinded, but I see.
I am closed off from heaven:
Ephphatha! say to me.

How can my eyes be opened
to see what you reveal?
My stone heart mst be broken
so that I may be healed.
How can I hear the whisper
as heaven's door swings free?
As you were pierced for sinners,
Ephphatha! say to me.

For you yourself were opened,
and you wept floods of tears—
so each of us is broken,
and I myself am pierced.
As you have suffered with me,
my sufferings redeem.
Let heaven open in me:
Ephphatha! say to me.

Christ healing the deaf mute of Decapolis, by Bartholomeus Breenbergh, 1635 – http://www.insecula.com/oeuvre/O0017918.html, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5746158

Led Into the Desert

Filled with the Holy Spirit, Jesus returned from the Jordan
and was led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days,
to be tempted by the devil.
—Luke 4:1-13

You were led into the desert—
it's been waiting since your birth—
to be tempted and be tested
as are all who walk the earth,
to take up the weight we bear here
and to suffer—for you can—
all the shocks that flesh is heir to,
Son of David, Son of Man.

You were led into temptation;
you were purified by fire.
Still the rocks are as you made them
though you hunger and desire.
Teach us how to hunger with you
for a feast beyond our thought:
Bread that you alone can give us,
Son of Heaven, Son of God.

You were led atop the Temple,
shown the world beneath your feet,
but you would not serve the tempter
and you chose your own defeat.
You will die like one forsaken;
you will sink into the dust.
Wept and shrouded, you'll be laid out,
son of Mary, one of us.

You were led into the desert;
you were led to Calvary,
so you lead us onward, Shepherd,
to the pastures of your peace.
Let us follow through the wasteland,
through temptation let us cling
'til you bring us to your graced land,
sons and daughters of the king.

COL; (c) City of London Corporation; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

More details

Briton Rivière – The Temptation in the Wilderness – Art UK: entry the-temptation-in-the-wilderness-51153, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=39630461

Flood

You spoke, O God, and all was made;
the evening came, and then the day,
and someday all will be made new—
a day that no one knows but you.

You drew the vapor off the land
and oceans gathered in your hand.
You shut within its doors the sea,
and with a word you set it free.

The stormcouds thundered back again:
You looked upon the works of men
and sent the raging of the flood
to wash the stones we'd stained with blood.

But in your day all floods recede
and sunlight touches soil and seed.
The shattered earth will yield once once;
the vintage of your love will pour.

'Til then, your altars deep are drowned,
and deep the sacrifice must sound.
So shall the deluge wash away
the sin that stains our hands today.

Let this flood reach our inmost parts
with tears to baptize wayward hearts.
Like the earth, let us be whole again;
like the earth, to yield your harvest then.

More details

Noah’s Ark (1846), by the American folk painter Edward Hicks 1780 – 1849 (1780 – 1849) – Artist/Maker (American)Born in Langhorne, Pennsylvania, United States. Died in Newtown, Pennsylvania, United States.Details on Google Art Project – aQFz9qNv8QS26Q at Google Cultural Institute maximum zoom level, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21886421

In Secret

Jesus said to his disciples:
“Take care not to perform righteous deeds
in order that people may see them;
otherwise, you will have no recompense from your heavenly Father.
When you give alms,
do not blow a trumpet before you,
as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets
to win the praise of others.
Amen, I say to you,
they have received their reward.
But when you give alms,
do not let your left hand know what your right is doing,
so that your almsgiving may be secret.
And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.
—Matthew 6:1-6

If we have worked in darkness
and labored through the night,
how shall we taste the harvest
in your unending light?

We fear the dark's obscurance
of all our works and ways.
O God, give us endurance
and hope to see the day!

Look down on all that's hidden
and read the words we hide:
May all our acts live in you,
where even night is bright.

And in our darkest places,
our inmost, secret parts
help us to sing your praises
as you look on our hearts.

Then may we give in secret:
Our good work need not show
for surely you will see it—
though you alone may know.

And when you set your table
where all shall have their due,
Lord, make for us a place there,
that we may feast in you.

Title: “Blasts” from The Ram’s Horn Year: 1902 (1900s) Authors: Subjects: Poetry Publisher: Chicago, The Ram’s Horn Co.By Internet Archive Book Images – https://www.flickr.com/photos/internetarchivebookimages/14781372921/Source book page: https://archive.org/stream/blastsfromramsho00unse/blastsfromramsho00unse#page/n34/mode/1up, No restrictions, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=42489652