Holy Thursday

  

The evening song rises,

wavering upward with the incense.

Voices sound out like trumpets,

break open in beauty like daffodils,

proclaiming before the great suffering begins:

“It is for love! It is for love! 

This great folly is for love!”

And then, the garden,

agony

alone.

Jesus, your prayer rises like a whisp of smoke,

like a candle extinguished…

leaving only a sad grey trail

curling heavenward in the darkness.

The tabernacle sits empty,

like a heart broken open

and found abandoned.

Love—

life—

lost.

We stay,

mourning you with our songs,

eyes open and aching,

empty of tears,

waiting.

  

Human Heart Divine

Tonight,after another long day of unpacking
and sorting the mismatched socks which mysteriously followed us
to the new house (how? how?),
we walk the two blocks to church—so close!—
and attend the Mass of the Sacred Heart.

Jesus awaits us. 
And amidst the glow of candles
and the flowing melody of chant
my spirit begins to breathe again,
having been slightly suffocated 
by walls of cardboard boxes.
In this open space, my heart expands.

The silence is pregnant with poetry—
the words which have been bottled up inside,
which my hands have longed to release,
begin to emerge and the urge to write grows stronger. 

My little ones are sleepy
the baby dream chuckles and snores somnolently in the snugly
cosy and safe as in God’s pocket. 

My toddler clutches his toy car,
which is always magically in his hands
no matter where we go,
until sleep releases it from his grip
with a small clatter.

  
 
My five year old slides over 
with her stuffy peaking out of her coat,
her eyes wide open and insistent,
as she asks me a pressing question 
“Do bunnies eat petals?”
“Yes!”

“I know,” whispers my four year old,
Let’s pretend we’re in a movie theatre.”
I grin and breathe in deeply to let the incense fill my lungs 
as the shimmer of golden vestments brightens my eyes. 

Under the everyday human humdrum,
runs the divine,
like blood under skin—
hidden, life giving, essential. 
The heart of God
pierced with the sorrow of love for us
stoops down to touch us gently…
an embrace filled with yearning. 

Rain drums on the roof 
and we are cradled inside the cosy wooden church
as if in the ark,
riding the waves of our life
to the shore beyond…
seekers listening for the gentle sound of a dove
as the Holy Spirit leads us forward.