Thursday, May 26, 2016

Gift


The free-est gift I give my self is to give myself to God;
And in the journey that I Work, I keep my feet unshod.
For in the giving of the gift the Giver gives to me
The Sacred Life that He did live and hung upon a Tree.



If self-denial is the quest that leads us to the Other,
Then we must make some sense of life attached here to Our Mother.
For nature only signifies transcendent things. It’s true,
And only saying “only” here brings me right back to you.


The dialectic we embrace has perfected our time,
And brings us to a sacred Gift that's hidden in our rhyme.
The only Real Person, then, is God Himself, you see.
But in that deep surrender, now, I find Integrity.


Tuesday, May 10, 2016

A Dialogue about Broken Dishes

Puer: I'm sorry, Pater, I broke the dishes.

Pater: Why are you sorry?

Puer: Because I broke the dishes.

Pater:
But did you intend to?

Puer:
No, Pater, I did not.

Pater:
Then, my glorious Puer, why do you say you're sorry?

Puer:
I don't understand.

Pater: It is good and holy to apologize for those mistakes you committed willingly. However, to apologize for something that was an accident imputes guilt to yourself that you do not have.

Puer: Well, Pater, I feel bad about it and I don't know what to say. I didn't want to break the dishes, but there they are, broken. You have asked me before to tell you if I broke anything. How can I make up for it?

Pater: Oh, beautiful Puer, I sense your heart. And I honor your emotions. If you feel sad about your loss, share your heart with me.

Puer: Yes, Pater... I will begin over: I feel sad that I broke the dishes.

Pater:
Ah, my Puer, were they lovely dishes?

Puer: No, Pater, they were shabby, but I did like them.

Pater:
If they were shabby, why did you like them?

Puer: Because I used them whenever my friends came over. Mater did not want me to use the good dishes. She took these out of the closet and told me she had saved them for me to dine on with my friends.

Pater: It seems to me, then, that you feel sad not only because the shabby dishes are broken, but that you do not have anything on which to share meals with your friends. Is that all?

Puer:
No, Pater, I also feel sad, too, because Mater made an effort to save them for me and now I have lost them. I feel like I have dishonored her gift.

Pater: My dear and sweet Puer, honor your emotions and take some delight in the fact that you still have Mater, me, and your friends to create new memories. You honor Mater by feeling deeply that you may have dishonored her gift. And you honor me by sharing your heart with me.

Let us sit down, soon, and write beautiful poetry about the joy these dishes brought you. Let us also talk to Mater and see if she can assist you in obtaining other dishes for the times you entertain your friends. Perhaps the next time that your friends come to dine with you, you can grieve the loss of the dishes together and sing a song in their honor?

But first, let us attend to the mess in the kitchen!

Friday, May 6, 2016

Written on the Occasion of Being Asked to Sponsor a Young Man for Confirmation

Our openness to the Divine
And sanctifying grace
Is sharing in the sweetest wine
poured out in every place.

Our soul seems like the barren earth
That laps up every drop
Of nourishment from heaven sent
Don't ever let it stop.

But even though the Perfect Gift
Is giv'n every day
We do traverse a deep, dark rift
That seems to block the way.

A willing heart will build a bridge
Across the empty span
Though there's no wall, there is no ridge
That stops God's holy Plan.

Except a heart that is still closed
To His most gracious rain
Hearts are bitter that were hosed  
By wounds from human pain.

The heart that's wounded is so dear
To Our Most Gracious Lord
He longs to draw us ever near
But sometimes we sit bored.

And though we sit or even sleep
While others labor hard
His Mercy is so very deep
Like "aromatic nard".

When you're Annointed, soon, dear boy
Open your heart to God
He will not treat you like a toy,
But waits for you to nod.

Your head will show Him of your love
Your willingness to serve
Your open heart will rise above
The ridge if you have nerve.

I give you now my hand to hold
So open wide your heart
That as you age and become old
From Him you will not part.