Tuesday, January 31, 2012

He said she was eloquent

(conversation with Kent regarding Marilyn an address to church folk)

He said she was eloquent
in her speech.
He said she spoke
of would-be gatekeepers,
the ones who keep out
rather than the ones
who admit entry.
He said she reminded
her listeners of all
those good and faith-filled
followers of Jesus
and those pious law keepers
of the religious institution
who intended to send away
and bar entry for
bothersome children
adulterous women and
those of ill-repute
homeless schizophrenics
hungry masses
poor and dirty
spirited madmen shouting recognition
persistent blind beggars and
those others outside the fold
looking for scraps under the table.
Each time the gate-keepers
would attempt to deny entry
there was Jesus, she said,
opening the door.
Let them come
I do not condemn
Let’s feed them all
For such is the kingdom.

castle in Dublin


Is that what he meant
when he said he was
the gate, the door
and all who came
to knock
would find entry?
Is that what old St Benedict
understood when he instructed
the monastery doorkeeper
to tend the door with anticipation
to open the door
and receive all as Christ?



And Mother Teresa,
she knew that opening
the door  
to create room for all
who others left outside
untouched and unloved
was to welcome in Jesus
for they all were Christ
to her.

He said she was reminding
those with ears to hear
that if we dare to be
gatekeepers of the God’s home
we might best serve as
ones who open the gate
to be like Jesus, the open door.

Come home, come home,
the door is open wide.
Come home, come home,
and live with me, inside.*

* “Come Home” (The Father’s Invitation)
Lyrics and melody by Miriam Kline Overholt

Meditations on a feather


It’s still there
this morning as I sit
here in this rocker
wrapped in my prayer shawl.
I noticed it yesterday
but it may have been there
before then.
The wind had been calm.
Only the slightest breath
of air caused it to stir
to draw my attention.
Now the breeze has picked up
and yet it clings,
wedged tight, somehow secured
in the lacy tips of the
the Japanese maple.

It looks like it might be
an inner downy feather
from a Blue Jay,
the subtle barring
and size gives it away,
but how did it get there?
The branch is far too delicate
to bear the weight of that bird.
It must have arrived on the wind
to find temporary lodging there.
For how long? I wonder.
When will the wind be strong
enough to tug it free?
And where will it fly?
Will it become nesting material?
In this odd warm winter
did the Jay begin to molt?
Is it missing that
inner warmth?
Was it in a squabble and lost
feathers in the fight?
What happens to all the
feathers, downy ones or ones for flight,
of all the birds that flit
past my window?
Once in while there may be
a random wing or tail feather
to collect.  Less so in hiking
I spot the feathery remains
of a not so fortunate end
caught prey of another.
Is that how all birds
come to an end?
Why don’t I see more feathers
adhering to tree branches
or scattered on the ground?
Where do all the birds go at life’s end?
What happens to their feathers?
skin and bones?
Is there weeping for a day?
Loss among the flock?
Are they anxious about
feather loss?
or my empty feeder?
or what will come tomorrow?
or where they’ll sleep tonight?

Considering the birds
of the air…

(a day later… I saw another downy
feather caught on the bare branches
of a Pine.  Perhaps we see what we
look for.)

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Discernment

Way closes
so it seems.
Way lies
hidden away.

Bent in submission to winter’s weight
saplings bow
interlaced
shrouded in white
wet and frozen        
bent - not broken
reconfiguring what lies ahead.

Remnant leaves of bygone glory
brittle and brown
cling tight
obscuring vision
block clear way.

Limited sight
blinding sun on crystal prisms
gray clouds interspersed
flake filled winds
forming unfamiliar shapes and shadows
in frozen glory.




Which way?
I thought I knew.
I think I know,
but all is askew.
Give up the way forward?
turn around
retrace steps to familiar ground
to safety?
Or risk the adventure
trusting former ventures
trusting peace in the unknown
finding way one step ‘round
at a time
until hidden way comes clear?

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Polar People


Polar people-
ends of spectrum
north south
summer winter
truth in black or white
good guys bad guys
Democrat Republican
wealthy impoverished
glass half full half empty
in out right wrong
total depravity infinite grace-

seeking an equator
a fulcrum to guard and
hold together
extremes
making
space for both and.

Come, Holy Equator,
help us find balance.