Make Me a Door

"But the souls of the just are in the hand of God,
and no torment shall touch them.
They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead;
and their passing away was thought an affliction
and their going forth from us, utter destruction.
But they are in peace."
--Wisdom 3:1-3

The readings this month offer a bridge between All Saints/All Souls and Advent, calling us daily to remember both those who have died and also to be mindful of our own mortality and the preciousness of the present moment.  We are called to open ourselves to the reality of the Kingdom, which breaks into our lives unexpectedly and with transformative consequences.

The below poem by Tim Myers, which won Honorable Mention in the 2010 Thomas Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred, is as beautiful an expression of faith as I've ever seen.  I aspire to live my life in such a way that I might own these words, both in the present moment and at the time of my own passing.

Myself as Tree: A Prayer

Adonai,
give me life then kill me if you must,

only let it be
that like a tree I live, a planted thing,
knowing the ground deep and deeper,
drinking up world through roots I send down,
water drawn from soil and darkness --

let the season-round ring by ring increase me--

when sun comes, let my leaves flutter
each with its own small luster --
let autumn-release fling my numberless seeds
outward on winds
as shifting and sure as Hope --

and when my sap fails at last,
come Thou, Axman.
lay me down, fell me hard
(I'll murmur Your name all the while),

stand over me gripping the ax of Death
and split me with Your hands
(the right I call Making, the left Unmaking),

let the blade bite, let it jump into
my drying white interior,
oh Unspeakable, shape me, plane me --

make me a Door.

perihelion--
the cold January sun
seems so far away

God himself is born!

And so we see, God is not

until he is born.

And also we see

there is no end to the birth of God.

--D.H. Lawrence

The Birth of Something Different

Into this world
this demented inn,
in which there is no room
for Him at all,
Christ has come uninvited.

But because He cannot
be at home in it, because He is
out of place in it,
His place is with those
who do not belong,
who are rejected
by power because
they are regarded as weak,
those who are discredited,
who are denied
the status of person,
tortured and exterminated.

With those for whom
there is no room,
Christ is present in this world.

He is mysteriously present
in those for whom
there seems to be nothing
but the world at its worst.
--Thomas Merton

Some people professing to follow Christ have made a big deal out of people saying "Happy Holidays" this year instead of "Merry Christmas." These folks would do well to read Thomas Merton's poem and be reminded of what following Christ really entails.

winter solstice --
the pear tree
finally shakes its leaves