How to Apologize

   

Cook a large fish—choose one with many bones, a skeleton
you will need skill to expose, maybe the flying
silver carp that's invaded the Great Lakes, tumbling
the others into oblivion. If you don't live
near a lake, you'll have to travel.
Walking is best and shows you mean it,
but you could take a train and let yourself
be soothed by the rocking
on the rails. It's permitted
to receive solace for whatever you did
or didn't do, pitiful, beautiful
human. When my mother was in the hospital,
my daughter and I had to clear out the home
she wouldn't return to. Then she recovered
and asked, incredulous,
How could you have thrown out all my shoes?
So you'll need a boat. You could rent or buy,
but, for the sake of repairing the world,
build your own. Thin strips
of Western red cedar are perfect,
but don't cut a tree. There'll be
a demolished barn or downed trunk
if you venture further.
And someone will have a mill.
And someone will loan you tools.
The perfume of sawdust and the curls
that fall from your plane
will sweeten the hours. Each night
we dream thirty-six billion dreams. In one night
we could dream back everything lost.
So grill the pale flesh.
Unharness yourself from your weary stories.
Then carry the oily, succulent fish to the one you hurt.
There is much to fear as a creature
caught in time, but this
is safe. You need no defense. This
is just another way to know
you are alive.

-- Ellen Bass (1947- ), American poet, editor, and author

Image: Alfred Sisley, Fish On a Plate, 1865-1867

Two Before the Altar

 Luke 18:9-14

“There is a crack in everything;
That’s how the light gets in.”—Leonard Cohen

The upright Pharisee, each hair in place, not a
Fringe on his tasseled loafers askew, stood
Before God’s altar and prayed to himself
Congratulations for his impeccable soul.
He knew what others thought of him.
His righteousness shone from his shoulders
Like epaulets- so certain was he of his goodness.
He checked the lock on the vault of his heart,
And nodded, satisfied. Nothing
In, nothing out, undisturbed. Shrugging deeper
Into the mantle of his own esteem,
Duty satisfied, he knew he was blessed.
Nothing had changed.

On trembling legs the tax-collector climbed the steps, aware
Of the eyes that turned his way, the stink of collusion
That clung to his fine clothes. He could still turn away,
But his heart urged him forward. No one
Expected to see him here in God’s courts,
And some sneered as he passed.
He knew what others thought of him.
Eyes downcast, he made himself small,
And beat his breast,
Pouring out his sins until his soul
Was an empty bowl, so thirsty was he for God’s mercy.
A spark of forgiveness lit the tinder
Of his heart. Cheeks wet, he resolved to turn.
In the new fire of grace and gratitude he was reclaimed.
Everything had changed.

--Leslie Barnes Scoopmire. This was first published at Episcopal Journal's Speaking to the Soul on October 20, 2222.

Little But Fierce

 

Whoever is faithful in a very little 

is faithful also in much…- Luke 16:10

 

Some pray for faith to move mountains;
but overlook the gnarled and knotty pine
that grasps the cliff face
with roots as strong as talons
that persistently turn that mountain into soil,
daredevil defying gravity and wind
its needles whistling a laughing alleluia.

 

Some pray for the faith of a mustard seed,
forgetting, in the parable
it was an ugly, humble weed
better located outside the garden wall.

 

Lord, let me pray for the faithfulness 
proclaimed by the honest little flower
that’s blooming in the pavement crack
or garbage dump; the dandelion,
maned all in white ruff, who
though spurned, has nourished the bees all season.

 

This is my prayer: 

to be brave enough to offer my heart
like a flare of blue in an autumn sky
without calculus of renown or esteem.

O Lord, make me faithful 
like little, overlooked things.

-- Leslie Barnes Scoopmire, first published at Episcopal Journal's Speaking to the Soul on September 15, 2022

Prayer for the gift of the Holy Spirit

O God, send forth your Holy Spirit 

into my heart that I may perceive, 

into my mind that I may remember, 

and into my soul that I may meditate. 

Inspire me to speak with piety, holiness, tenderness and mercy. 

Teach, guide and direct my thoughts and senses from beginning to end.

May your grace ever help and correct me, 

and may I be strengthened now with wisdom from on high, 

for the sake of your infinite mercy. 

Amen.

--Saint Anthony of Padua (1195-1231), Portuguese priest and Franciscan

In the Kitchen

('In the sixth month the angel Gabriel...' -Luke 1:26) 

Bellini has it wrong, 
I was not kneeling 
on my satin cushion, 
in a beam of light,
head slightly bent.

Painters always 
skew the scene, 
as though my life 
were wrapped in silks, 
in temple smells.

Actually, I had just 
come back from the well, 
placing the pitcher on the table 
I bumped against the edge, 
spilling water on the floor.

As I bent to wipe 
it up, there was a light 
against the kitchen wall, 
as though someone had opened 
the door to the sun.

Rag in hand, 
hair across my face, 
I turned to see 
who was entering, 
unannounced, unasked.

All I saw 
was light 
white against the timbers. 
A voice I've never 
heard greeted me,

said I was elected, would 
bear a son who'd reign 
forever. The spirit would 
overshadow me.
I stood afraid. 

Someone closed the door
and I dropped the rag.

-- Fr. Kilian McDonnell, OSB (1921- ), American monk, poet, and theologian at St. John's Abbey

Relevant Scripture: Luke 1:26-38

When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

--Isaac Watts (1674-1748),  English hymn writer and Noncomforming pastor, Hymn 474 in Hymnal 1982