OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

I have praised The wonder of God's creatures With little thought For the design of crows Until now In this wild Seashore sanctuary The thrill frill Of outstretched wings Flapping elegance Like Joni On the cover Of Hejira Skating on ice Beautiful blackness Rising upon the uprush Of wind My soul in their ascent Uplifted to the highest heavens

 

This is shelter from the Winter rain, oasis in the spiritual desert of the time in which we live, refuge from ourselves and each other. During this brief hour of our day, we look straight ahead. We are a communion of every age and generation, blend of race and colour, a procession of the beautiful moving forward in the direction of Jesus. Everything else is put aside for now. Why would we not avail of this time of respite that clears the soul, the mind, and the heart. Why would we not avail of it and give rest to our busied burdened bodies. The Cathedral is full this Sunday morning, Feast of the Baptism of Jesus, and we are filled again with hope, peace, love, and joy. Outside is America, as U2 sang in ‘Bullet The Blue Sky,’ the America that we have loved, admired, and imitated. The America that was a kind of mother and father and protector of the world order. America now fills us with fear, anxiety, anger and, above all, a profound sadness. We talk of little else and if we talk of...

  "Let the one who is without sin be the first to cast a stone." I am the woman Discovered undercover Caught in the act Exhumed from hiding Beneath skin and flesh The secret desirings Of heart and mind I am the boy Who took refuge there A place of escape And safe solace My habitual habitation I am every one Who exists on the outside The other side of right And there is nothing That will not be revealed In the end And this is my end The law abiding strong Throng my orthodox accuser With only one solution The right of righteousness I am petrified Panic stricken stood bowed Barely able to breathe What will the first Struck stone feel like? What part of me Will bleed and break Before I am all blood broken Bone splintered? I gasp for air For life But God is God The One who alone is Good Stands upright Sees all that I am - ALL - Absorbs me into Himself Bends down So that my bending Now has no more shame in it And the Law  That once was carved In stone He now inscribes  In soil ...

  The Sugrue Crib It's the season of waiting. Waiting for Christmas, for some new arrival of Jesus. Waiting to see the cardiologist. A long, long wait. And I have all the time in the world. Chris Rea sings 'Driving Home For Christmas' on the radio in the waiting room, a song that is always a reminder of Maura. Little did we think that Chris would die before Christmas, God rest him. My sister-in-law's Dad, Jim, has also died and we had his funeral yesterday. His family kept vigil with him for days as he quietly made his way home to God. Most blessed of all waiting. True Advent. A very meaningful waiting.  I am privileged to be drawn into their time of waiting, with them as friend and priest, and to witness the quality of their collective loving. And the gift of him being at home and they all being with him, caring for him right to the end. Each grandchild having their personal time with him, to say what they wished him to hear. Hearing is what he did. They were all heard...