Since I cannot come to church today
I’ll try to find you as I pray.
I’ll see you, my God,
in humble little places–
bejewelled flowers and children’s faces,
things of beauty, gentle graces.
Tag: Mass
Prairie Fire Under Snows
There is a flame the cold can’t quench
and so we joy-filled fill
this giant wooden teepee with song
We reach for the hand of one
whose wounded one reaches for ours
Sheltered in this house of God
by a cone of boards bound with nails
like a teepee sewn together
—holes through pierced skin—
protecting us from the winter storms
Like the people of Jerusalem we process with palms
but instead of hot sand the snow swirls around us
a soft spring snow
full of hope of future harvest
as the fire-golden wheat fields lie hidden
under the cold kiss of a blanket of snow
the way you lie hidden
the fire of your divinity
submerged in the wheat coloured wafer
we receive
We remember
We hope
We live in the shelter of his love
the humble king of glory
Shining Eyes
At the back of the church
a woman rocks a smiling disabled boy.
Her delight in him–not even her own child–is obvious.
“Look at your smile,” she coos,
wiping his face with a soft rag
in a gesture that is more a caress
than anything else.
All this is not distraction
but divine work.
As the choir sings of the incarnation
and the boy’s eyes shine,
the woman knows she is touching
a piece of Heaven.
Easter Sunday
Oh sweet relief! Love has triumphed!
No more has death the final word
It has become but a deep bow
In the dance of life
A last embrace
Leading into great light
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.
Just East Of Crazy Land 