This poem by Mother Mary Francis, a poor Clare, has been on my mind this morning:
Choreography for Angels
“I say to you, that there is joy among the angels
in heaven upon one sinner doing penance . . . ”
Who spun these Angels into dance
When wars are needing all artillery
Of spirits’ cannonading. Armistice
Wants first the over-powering wings, and they
Are occupied with pirouettes! Who did this?
Gone penitent, I caused it. I confess it.
Who tilted flames of Seraphim
In arabesques of pure delightedness?
Is not the cosmic crisis begging fire
For full destruction of hate’s hazarding!
Why Seraphs swirling flames on floors of heaven?
I lit the heavens, when I bent my head.
Who lined mystic corps-de-ballet
Of Cherubim? Who set in pas-de-deux
This Power with this Principality?
Why these Archangels not on mission sent
Today, but waltzing on the stars, and singing?
I am the one who did this. I confess it.
I smote my errant heart, and Angels danced.
May we remember this is the reality of the Heart of God.