Category: Poetry

Wring the Changes

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

A Sunday poem.

Wring the Changes

I have known the breathless feeling of a sponge that has been wrung
thoroughly and roughly above my life’s chipped sink,
squeezed to the point of tearing by the chapped hands of God
until my shape was nothing. Until I could not think.

I have known the way one squishes at the crushing of one’s foam,
have felt the curious balling of a thing without a spine.
But all of it led to a hope I do not hold alone:
that when my water’s all pressed out, I might soak in his wine. 

                                   Paul J. Pastor

Epiphany

Sr. Dorcee, beloved3 Comments

They have brought gold and spices to my King,
Incense and precious stuffs and ivory;
O holy Mother mine, what can I bring
That so my Lord may deign to look on me?
They sing a sweeter song than I can sing,
All crowned and glorified exceedingly:
I, bound on earth, weep for my trespassing,–
They sing the song of love in heaven, set free.
Then answered me my Mother, and her voice
Spake to my heart, yea answered in my heart:
‘Sing, saith He to the heavens, to earth, Rejoice:
Thou also lift thy heart to Him above:
He seeks not thine, but thee such as thou art,
For lo His banner over thee is Love.’

Christina Rossetti

20 January 1852

Water from a cistern

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

Epiphany has traditionally been the celebration of three mysteries: the coming of the Kings, Jesus’ baptism, and the wedding feast of Cana. Here’s a beautiful little extract from “Hymn for Epiphany” by Paul Claudel, celebrating the wedding feast. I can’t help that what Christ did with the water is the very same he would do for each of us, without hesitation. Changing our impure water into incredible wine.

The third mystery truly is at Galilee’s wedding repast
(For the first time that we see Thee, it is not as Host but as Guest)
When Thou dost change into wine, on Thy Mother’s whispered word,
The secret water there in the ten stone water-jars stored,
The bridegroom lowers his eyes. He is poor and oppressed with love:
For cistern water is hardly drink for a marriage, you know,
Such as it is in August when the reservoirs are low,
All filled with the impurities and with insects, not fit to show.

The Ageless Hymn

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

Our hearts’ longing:
  to sound Thy praises in fresh and untried ways,
To bring new pleasure to Thy ears
  on this Feast of Thy Birth,
  pouring at Thy feet rich ointment
   of fragrance sweet,
And crowning Thy head with golden garlands
  whose brightness is unvisioned.

But, alas, there is not song that is yet unsung
Or words unwritten to sound in Thy ears
Or gold of such wonder that is yet unseen.
There is nothing new found meet an fitting for Thee.

Except in Thee.
For You are the Praise and the Song and the Feast.
You alone are pleasing, and apart from Thee
  there is no beauty.
In You is every new song,
And a life lived in Thee is a crown on Thy brow.

So on this day when hearts burst forth,
And seek to find new ways to praise,
We gladly lose our lives in You,
  poured fully out at Thy feet.

And You, dear Christ, will be our Song,
  ageless and renowned,
The perfect Hymn of offering.

             26 December 1990
             Feast of the Incarnation