Martha stays busy in the kitchen, preparing lunch and many other meals,

doing the work of God in a busy way,

as she does diligently every day.

 

As we all need to, in order to get by.

 

Meanwhile, Mary sits nearby but alone in a quiet room

writing thoughts of God.

Beginning the day with the chirping of awakening birds,

And memories on night prayers smoking like incense around her body.

 

She remains calm and peaceful, tuning out the noise of the scullery nearby.

 

 

The sun rises again …

warming us, opening eyes, letting us see,

making the plants grow, ripening the fruit,

a circle of light surrounding our lives.

 

Seemingly eternal.

 

Then comes each season,

As the sun moves to and from us,

Letting us refresh and toil,

Giving thanks to each fertile moment.

 

As we rent time in a cosmic world.

 

A world of God’s creations,

Each one adored,

but the creator ignored.

Until finally, a sacrifice is made to remind us

Of who we are, and who created us.

 

Our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

What are they doing, silently watching for hours,

Praying, knitting, reading, contemplating …

DON’T THEY HAVE A HOME TO GO TO?

I really don’t understand this Eucharist thing at all.

 

Why go to Church when there isn’t even a service going on?

Oh yes, to pray. But the adorers don’t seem to be praying, just sitting.

Sitting in front of an altar with a wafer exposed.

This is not Billy Graham but something must be going on.

 

Meanwhile the adorers sit in an increasing rapture,

Praying for vocations, family and the man watching from behind the last pew.

Increasingly immersed in a sea of silence and love,

As they gaze on the face of God.

 

For they have found Jesus in His special room, and bask in His Presence.

 

Droplets of obscurity, hide reality
Oh show me the content behind this cover.
Eyes are blind, glazed like a donut
leaving me only to pray I might see.

A safe port, as the fog rises, securing me.

What does a soul need to hear,
to help them on their way?
A sign, a song, a reminder of a past,
even yours, it is a mystery.

So we sing, and paint, write, perform and tell a story,
a medley without an end,
only with a beginning …
And invite them towards the house.

So now we see them coming,
but cannot tell if they will pass by,
missing the gate, door or window I left open.
So let us not decide their path, but rather, leave them all open.

And let God lead them home.

You might get away with it,
but lies are like yarn;
need to be woven in order to tell their false story,
until they become a badly fitting jacket; now worn all day.

An disguise ineffective.

Book of Daniel
Daniel replied, “Your fine lie has cost you also your head,”
for the angel of God waits with a sword to cut you in two
so as to make an end of you both.”

To have wisdom is to do what is right,

At most times without knowing why,

But just doing or saying,

Not knowing how you knew,

Or questioning a thought, or decision.

Nevertheless … doing it naturally.

 

Because the decision was not yours to make.

Is belief knowledge with understanding,

or mere desire to have it be as we wish?

If we truly believe something is it not of our heart,

and difficult or impossible to erase?

 

As Love is.

Regrets follow me around like dirty dishes,

milestones, weighing me down,

reminders of decisions separated from virtue.

But they are not just that,

regrets mark where God breathed life in my conscience,

illuminating my soul and warming my heart,

not just to room temperature, but afire with love.

I regret my regrets, but they brought me home.

A home full of love and compassion,

where I now live in greater understanding.

Make all my regrets yesterdays, not today or tomorrow.

Book of Isiah

But Zion said, “The LORD has forsaken me;
my Lord has forgotten me.”
Can a mother forget her infant,
be without tenderness for the child of her womb?
Even should she forget,
I will never forget you.

The words come out and drift over me.
As if some fog of misunderstanding I need to pass through,
continuing my journey into oblivion.
But what if I heard it again?

If I repeat those words again to myself,
in my own deafness there is suddenly light.
Brakes have been applied and the notice to notice appears clearly.
I have heard and I have listened.

The heart has listened and relegated the ears to their peripheral role in my life.
An interpreter of sounds to reach my soul.