A Christmas Poem

In the bleak midwinter
the Christ Child again
asks to enter into our hearts
and melt the ice that insists
on forming there
against our better judgment --
our attempts at thawing
only serving to set it afire
in a soul-consuming explosion--
our attempts at cooling
turning it once again
to ice.

Outdoor Shrine

The tiny candle,
flame struggling
in the bitter cold,
sends out its
sincere prayers
to the heavens.

The First Creche

The fire light

casts its soft glow

on Mary's face

as she prepares
for the birth of her son.

The animals wait too
in quiet anticipation
for the new baby
that will soon be sharing
their manger.

Scholars watch the stars.

Shepherds sleep in the cold.

In another place
and another time,
brought together by worship
and sacrament,
a poor man named Francis
gets on his knees
and worships the Savior.

Where are the stars, Lord?

They used to hover

in the sky,

scintillating, moving,

as though alive

Huddled together

in numberless throng

like angels

orchestrating an eternal song.

They are not there--

I've searched for them at night.

We've frightened them away

with self-centered, artificial light.

We animate our nights with

artificial glare

until we can not see

that You are there.

Teach us to see the stars again, Oh Lord.

Help us to find them

and our faith

restored.

Holy Soul

Weep if you can.
Mourn if you will,
but pray,
pray,
pray.

Pray for me
for I will be gone
to fight my demons
one last time.

To do the work
I would not do
on earth.

I cowered in fear
from my own imperfections,
preferring instead
to hold them to myself
like a tattered blanket
soiled and torn;
useless yet oddly comforting.

I will not be able to
pray for myself

and yet I will know.

I will know
to the core of my being that
I am not worthy
to come under His roof.

I will know
like a thirsting man
yearns for water
that I need God.


The illustration for this poem is All Soul's Day by William Bouguereau. To purchase this picture, and see others by Bouguereau, visit the Art Renewal Center.

In Heaven's Presence

We are surrounded
by light,
white
and blinding--
beauty unsurpassed.
Our hearts leap within us
reunited
at last
with those long forgotten
who'd drifted down the still waters
of our pasts.
Our spirits soar together,
unable to fully encompass
the Love
that surrounds us,
complete
and unending,
all turning towards the same God.

At the Grotto

Orange butterfly
alights on purple flower--
prays with Bernadette.

Looking Forward

With my hand on the plow
I do not look back
but instead,
look forward
into the eyes
of Christ.

The Poetry of Beauty

All around us is
the poetry
of beauty.

The age-old impassioned yearning
of humanity
for the timeless, unsurpassed achievement
of created exquisiteness,

in sound
or in art,

in poetry
or in form,

unfolds for us
that which is beyond ourselves.

As we hunger for this beauty--
this order--
spending hours with the paint brush
or the pen,

with the clay
or the computer,

we toss aside our weak attempts
and start again.

We search each stranger's face
for the perfect beauty
that we know exists

for even our imperfect minds
have conceived it.

Beauty will save the world.
~Theodore Dostoyevsky

Finding Your Angel

Find your angel--
your being of light,
created by God
for infinite praise
of His immeasurable Love.

Draw strength
from God's messenger
poised in flight,
ever vigilant,
ready to rescue
on a wing
and a prayer.

Find your angel.

The Crowning of Mary and of Us

May is the time
of May Crownings
and First Communions,
of blossoms
and of light,
bringing forth the delicious awareness
of the exceptional distinction
of being young,
and female,
and Catholic.

Lace and tulle bedecked,
with veils and crowns,
we share our unique significance
with the Mother of God!

With her we come forward
to receive Our Lord--
our innocent "yes"
facilitating the union--

God alive
in us.

The feelings fade
over time
but come back
in waves

like labor,

giving birth
to a long forgotten longing

and in dreams
that visit
when day time defenses
are asleep,

and call us back
to live

our ancient, created value.

In the searing heat
and the ancient, arid dust

he is birthed
he is raised
and he sees

the heavy burden
the utter oppression
and the desperate poverty
his people daily endure

and he knows
in the most elemental facet
of his being

that he has come
to save them

no matter the cost

to himself.

I Am There

This year,

the purple is

unnecessary;

the covering of the statues,

the desert atmosphere,

bare branches on the altar

and sand

in the holy water font.


It is not necessary

to contrive a season

of mourning.


It is not necessary

to manufacture

the tiresome, ashen, darkness

to get in touch with the reality of

my spiritual poverty.



I am there.

Of Psalm 51 and Broken Arms

I wear my brokenness
before me...always...
reminding me
of my frailty,
forcing me
to step carefully
and watch
for obstacles
in my path--
reminding me
of my perpetual dependence.

I enter the place of prayer
each strengthening bead
infusing within me
calm resolve
to face
another day

The angel of God
sails through the trees
ripping off the branches
in his wake
changing the landscape
of my life

Come, Lord Jesus!

Restless Hearts

We are like vultures,
fallen,
searching for that which,
though dead,
would feed us.

We fill our stomachs
full of empty sweetness
that seems to satisfy.

That which we hunger for,
that which would feed us
is You and You alone.

You gave us yourself.
Your death, given for us,
is made alive again
to nourish and strengthen us
to give us life
for the journey--
to remain with us
until the end
of time.

Sin

I look inside
and see
the worm of sin
that is eating
my soul.

Oh, Jesus!
Break the bonds
of sin
that have entangled me.

Help me to be
a generous servant
to your people.

Oh God,
forgive me
for my lack of courage
in the past,
and give me courage now,
to bear the consequences