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.

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!

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.