[Effortlessly]

Effortlessly,
Love flows from God into man,
Like a bird
Who rivers the air
Without moving her wings.
Thus we move in His world,
One in body and soul,
Though outwardly separate in form.
As the Source strikes the note,
Humanity sings–
The Holy Spirit is our harpist,
And all strings
Which are touched in Love
Must sound.


--Mechthild of Magdeburg (1207-1297), German mystic author, poet, and monastic, translated by Jane Hirshfield

Scriptural reference: Acts 2:1-21 The Feast of Pentecost

Image: The Spirit Searches, by Donn Shasteen, acrylic on wood tryptich

St. Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch

’TWAS silent all and dead
Beside the barren sea,
Where Philip’s steps were led,
Led by a voice from Thee—
He rose and went, nor ask’d Thee why,
Nor stay’d to heave one faithless sigh:

Upon his lonely way
The high-born traveller came,
Reading a mournful lay
Of “One who bore our shame,
Silent Himself, His name untold,
And yet His glories were of old.”

To muse what Heaven might mean
His wandering brow he rais’d,
And met an eye serene
That on him watchful gaz’d.
No hermit e’er so welcome cross’d
A child’s lone path in woodland lost.

Now wonder turns to love;
The scrolls of sacred lore
No darksome mazes prove;
The desert tires no more:
They bathe where holy waters flow,
Then on their way rejoicing go.

They part to meet in heaven;
But of the joy they share,
Absolving and forgiven,
The sweet remembrance bear.
Yes—mark him well, ye cold and proud,
Bewilder’d in a heartless crowd,

Starting and turning pale
At Rumour’s angry din—
No storm can now assail
The charm he wears within,
Rejoicing still, and doing good,
And with the thought of God imbu’d.

No glare of high estate,
No gloom of woe or want,
The radiance can abate
Where Heaven delights to haunt.
Sin only hides the genial ray,
And, round the Cross, makes night of day.

Then weep it from thy heart;
So may’st thou duly learn
The intercessor’s part,
Thy prayers and tears may earn
For fallen souls some healing breath,
Ere they have died th’ Apostate’s death.

--John Keble (1792-1866) Anglican priest, poet, and leader of the Oxford Movement 

Image: Baptism of the Eunuch by St. Philip, Alexandre Denis Abel de Pujol, 1848

Scripture reference: Acts 8:26-40, Easter 5B

To The Unknown God

Once more, before my vision turns

To strange horizons, untried lands,
To thee I lift my lonely hands
For whom my spirit yearns,
To whom, within its ultimate shrine,
Are solemn altars dedicate
While yet I wait
The summoning voice to claim me thine.
Thereon is writ in characters ablaze
The deep-cut legend, “To the Unknown God”;
For his am I, although my feet have trod,
Even to this hour, in foul and miry ways,
Yea, I will know thee, great Unknown,
Who shakest the foundations of my soul,
Urgent and clamorous as the thunder’s roll.
Eternally apart, eternally my own,
Yea, I will know thee — I will serve thee.

--Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), German philosopher, philologist, critic, founder of nihilism, influencer of Nazism, vehement atheist and hater of Christianity, and yeah, I am just as surprised as anyone by this poem, but it was written when a young man before he denounced Christianity.

Scripture reference: Acts 17:22-31, Easter 6A