Walking in the Afternoon

The sun is shining. The air is warm.

There is goodness.

Goodness will endure.

The storm and show of evil is not the final word.

All the clatter that shakes our thoughts

will not be silenced by a better idea.

Our hope is that hope has an answer

that whispers like the still small voice.

My Hunger Cries Out For You

Lord Jesus,
in the Eucharist You are present
with the whole of the love
that penetrates the depths of our suffering.

Lord Jesus, I am hurting.
I am haunted by my own failure.
I cannot live by myself.
I am dry and shriveling and dying
of hunger.

I turn my heart to You,
O Eucharistic Lord
I need You.
My nothingness cries out
to Your small, hidden, humble love.

O Lord, unite me to Yourself.
Fill this depthless hunger,
this me,
this gigantic longing
that breaks through all my strange pains
and cries out for You. 

A Hero, A Young Man, and An Old Poem

St. Maximilian Kolbe, a Polish Catholic priest, took another prisoner's place in the starvation bunker at Auschwitz, where he died on August 14, 1941. As he stepped forward from the line up, he spoke clearly to the camp officer, "I am a Catholic priest. I will take that man's place."

This is a poem that I wrote 23 years ago today.


August 14th

I am the guardian
unworthy
of the flesh and blood that I command.
I stand
extended
from world's edge to windowless walls,
the quarry-block place markers
around my becoming-all-things.
I am a mother's graceful, sweet breath
dissolving
like fine, penetrating mist
against your broken, burned skin.
I am the witness
stepping out of place
away
beyond the trembling assembly
of bony finger-clutched this-moment,
toward the timeless returning unto dust of you
and you
and you.

Forward!
step forward...
                           ...out of place
for I am
your sacrifice.

--August 14, 1989

We Will Be White With Fire

          The Transfiguration

          brings the hope of glory

          to our poor human bodies.

          We must never hate ourselves

          over any physical imperfection,

          or any mark of affliction

          borne upon the body.

          We must not be anxious

          for the young brief beauty

          that passes away.

          It is our very own flesh

          that has been loved,

          and that is destined to shine,

          white with the brightness

          of Love's fire.

          Let us be good to ourselves,

          and to one another, for we are loved

          and we are wanted...forever.