Those heavy days, the Child cramped
within you and girding his limbs,
your lungs squeezed breathless-high,
the ordinary, unnerving simmer
of black waters within, Woman,
what did you think?
Or was thought
all prayer—trust in the buds
of epiphanies, the unquantifiable
blood to be let. But Mother,
those unspeakably swollen days,
olives combed out of ashen leaves,
or wine leeching out its vinegar smell,
did you feel the tug of split hearts,
in city streets, at tabernacles, in bars?
As your belly drew down, drawn
by hormones and truth, did you weigh,
too, the clumsy imploring down all
our bloodlines, for this saving parcel of flesh?
A lovely little poem by Anne Porter.
A Short Prayer
Mary, in you
We see the flowering
Of our human beauty
The songs of God.
And in your heart the lost
Rejected and abandoned ones
Are held in honor
Stay with us now
Something to remember today on 9/11:
“Contrary to the predisposition to believe more easily in evil than in good, Mary bore witness to the truth that God is the good Father in whom each one can put his trust.” (Simone Trois & Christiana Paccini from Chiara Corbella Petrillo, A Witness to Joy)
Reblogging this once again . . .
There are so many artistic depictions of the Annunciation, but one of my all-time favorites is one that a good friend of mine gave me a few years ago. You can see it below. Not too long afterward I came across a poem by Luci Shaw that seemed to have been written for it. I share that with you as well. Thank you, Mary, for your earth-changing yes. . .
As if until that moment
had happened since Creation
As if outside the world were empty
so that she and he were all
there was–he mover, she moved upon
As if her submission were the most
dynamic of all works; as if
no one had ever said Yes like that
As if that day the sun had no place
in all the universe to pour its gold
but her small room
Found this excellent article on walking through Lent with Mary:
In the wee hours of the morning, shivering from the cold, damp interior of the darkened Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, I lingered in prayer at the rock of Calvary. Resting my hand on the cold rock where the noble cross of Jesus Christ stood upright on the first Good Friday, I prayed. Oh, how I poured my heart out! I was in a spiritual place of desolation when I arrived on retreat in the Holy Land having just gone through a big upheaval in my life. Doors closed, paths turned, and the future seemed unclear to me. I was searching and completely open, available and docile to the next phase of God’s plan for my life.
Read the rest here.