Poems

They came into the garden on that darkest of nights, with torches flaring, swords bared, to take like a thief Christ Jesus, Son of God. Who could blame Peter for drawing, against the atrocity, his sword of outrage— for smiting the high priest's servant, taking off his ear? But the Master, with legions of angels at his command, gave himself up to his accusers.

Spiritual history has no woman waiting for birth, no Saviour needing to be recognized, no hour unclaimed by God. It has no man bearing hatred; no woman stopped at a tomb identified with God's Son.

Eating tasteless empty husks for years Took me into desperate starvation. I reached through veils of penitential tears To find the one and full, complete salvation.

I do not time travel to that great fount of living water— Love— for I, as living image, am travel free and time has for me no oppressive border. I cross no chasm of space for I dwell now in the living depth of Love itself wherein I safely rest, not as mere fragment of God, but as His living eternal reflection.

Feeling left out of good, a trifle down and blue? Take Jesus at his word: God's lovingkindness includes you. No need to press nose to windowpane, wishing you had what others do.

"I must be on Molokai again. I must be on Molokai," I blinked as dark clouds raced across the early morning sky.

Pen poised, words whirling— tumbling like dominoes, landing askew. A pair here.

"Judge not," our Master said, "that ye be not judged. "   Matt.

We gathered at the doorstep when we heard that he was there, So many that we could not be received. But he was gracious to the crowd and preached the Word of God, And those with open hearts and minds believed.

Slow flow of sap in silent bough— winter's springtime present now! Slow grow of shoot in winter earth— outbreak of wonder at rebirth! Slow snow like blossom on the wing— winter's accolade to spring! Show! Show! through longest winter night— perpetual alchemy of Light! "Jesus said.