Thomas . . .Doubting or Deepening His Faith?



Hendrick ter Brugghen - The Incredulity of Saint Thomas

This Sunday the Gospel reading is from John 20:19-34, the story of Thomas who seemed to be missing at the first appearance of Jesus in the upper room. Thomas is known as “Doubting Thomas” but it is also stated that he is called the Twin.  I wondered if he had a twin sister like me. Some commentaries I have read over the years have said that possibly he was called “twin” because he was similar in looks to Jesus.  Other reflections stated that WE are the TWIN!  We, like Thomas, have times in which we ask for a sign, need more evidence before we believe something, or walk around with doubts – Jesus was so attentive to the way in which Thomas needed to move into a deepening of his faith.  “Then he focused his attention on Thomas.  ‘Take your finger and examine my hands.  Take your hand and put it in my side. Don’t be unbelieving.  Believe.'”

As I pondered in my prayer today – I wondered -  what if Jesus were standing in front of me and he tenderly and compassionately desired to place his fingers in my wounds?  Where are those unseen, secret and sacred places within me that only God knows that are awaiting a healing touch?  What wounding am I aware of in myself that are the sorrowful mysteries of my own life? How would I come to forgiveness of myself, of others, and of creation?  How would I come to a deepening of my own faith, love, and hope?

Where do we need to invite Jesus to touch the wounds of humanity? Let us together ask Jesus to touch with healing, mercy, and peace those areas where there are conflicts, abuse, hunger, poverty, injustice, suffering for those who are marginalized in our governments, church, or systems?   I know there is a litany with much more that I could name.

So let us pray: Holy Darkness, God of Mystery that creates in and through us, help us not to resist the darkness. Help us to trust in you precisely in those moments when we are confused or uncertain or do not understand.  Heal us of our trepidation in the face of the unknown, and help us to yield to the creative process that at this very moment is at work in the inner darkness, in the unseen, secret places that only you know.  Like dark energy, may your Spirit expand my being so that I become more of who you desire me to be – free, capable of loving and being loved.  Amen.

(From Radical Amazement by Judy Cannato)

 

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas (Caravaggio)

 

Resurrection . . . Absence and Presence . . .

“The resurrection stories reveal the always-present tension between coming and leaving, intimacy and distance, holding and letting go, at-homeness and mission, presence and absence.  We face these tensions every day.”
 (Henry Nouwen)

“Where have they taken him? Your story of the empty grave was dismissed as rambling – distraught woman – nonsense.  But you returned to the empty space and stayed there – unable to leave the ground made precious by the brush of his skin.  It was there, in that deep and empty space, that he whispered your name, Mary, leaping you into another world – hurtling you from reality into the Realm of God – spinning in a miracle, love saturated, as Jesus, Son of God all risen up, breathed your name – claiming you as treasured and chosen."

From: “Soul Sisters” by Edwina Gateley

 

Eastering again and again . . .

Servant Girl at Emmaus
by Vela'zquez

 The Servant Girl at Emmaus
 (A Painting by Velázquez)

She listens, listens, holding
 her breath. Surely that voice
 is his—the one
 who had looked at her, once, across the crowd,
 as no one ever had looked?
 Had seen her? Had spoken as if to her?

Surely those hands were his,
 taking the platter of bread from hers just now?
 Hands he'd laid on the dying and made them well?

Surely that face—?

The man they'd crucified for sedition and blasphemy.
 The man whose body disappeared from its tomb.
 The man it was rumored now some women had seen this morning, alive?

Those who had brought this stranger home to their table
 don't recognize yet with whom they sit.
 But she in the kitchen, absently touching
            the winejug she's to take in,
 a young Black servant intently listening,

swings round and sees
 the light around him
 and is sure.

Denise Levertov (1923–1997)

Easter ~ The Season of Mystery and Marvels . . .

When dawn stands still with wonder, when birds jubilate in the trees, when buds hurry into blossoms and grass starts wearing green – I always know that Easter wants to come again.

But deeper yet and richer still when Jesus, imprisoned in me, asks me to roll away the stone that locks him in, then Easter wants to come again.

So, let it come. It’s one dawn past rising time and Resurrection is the wildest news that’s ever touched this crazy mixed-up world. It says, yes! When everything else says, no! It says, up! When everything else says, down! It says, live! When everything else says, die!

Easter’s standing at your door again, so don’t you see that stone has got to go? That stone of fear, of selfishness and pride, of greed and blindness and all the other stones we use to keep Jesus in the tomb.

So here’s to rolling stones away, to give our Lord the chance He needs to rise and touch a troubled, lonely world.

Some call it Resurrection. It’s wild with wonder. It’s beautiful and real, intent on throwing life around – it touches and it heals!

Yes, Easter, you can come – an angel of life I’ll be.  I’ll roll the stone away and set you free.

(From Seasons of Your Heart by Macrina Wiederkehr)

Holy Saturday ~ It was a day of rest . . .

Image by Michael O'Brien
Jesus is Laid in the Tomb

In John O’Donohue’s book,
Anam Cara,
he writes about death.

“Death is a lonely visitor.
After it visits your home,
nothing is ever the same again.
There is an empty place at the table;
there is an absence in the house.

Having someone close to you die
is an incredibly strange and desolate experience.
Something breaks within you then
that will never come together again.

Gone is the person whom you loved,
whose face and hands and body
you knew so well.
This body, for the first time,
is completely empty.

This is very frightening and strange.
After the death many questions
come into your mind concerning
where the person has gone,
what they see and feel now.
The death of a loved one is bitterly lonely.

When you really love someone,
you would be willing to die in their place.
Yet no one can take another’s place
when that time comes.
Each one of us has to go alone.

It is so strange that when someone dies,
they literally disappear.
Human experience includes
all kinds of continuity and discontinuity,
closeness and distance.

In death, experience reaches
the ultimate frontier.
The deceased literally
falls out of the visible world of form and presence.

At birth you appear out of nowhere,
at death you disappear to nowhere. . . .

The terrible moment of loneliness in grief
comes when you realize that
you will never see the deceased again.”

John O’Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, (New York, HarperCollins, 1997) p.207

Crucifixion . . .the Crossbeamed Christ!

Image by Michael O'Brien

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Kf0mt25fTc



 Crucifixion

Stripped of godliness,
hands hammered open,,
arms yanked wide,
the crossbeamed Christ
pours himself out
till rivers run red with
wine enough to satisfy
century-cries of thirst.

Irene Zimmerman, OSF
Woman Un-Bent

The Beginning of "March Madness" . . .

Painting by Caravaggio: Taking of Christ

And It Was Night . . .

You stumble unseeing from the upper room
and no number of lanterns and torches can dim
your darkness now, Judas. When did you let
the light go out? When did you begin
to guard the hoard and spend starry evenings
behind drawn tent flaps, running the coins
through acquisitive fingers while the company sat
in a circle outside, breaking bread
and talking of light in the crackling campfire?

When did you fine-tune your ears to the clink
of copper and silver and gold, letting
the words of the Master fade out unheeded?
When did you start to begrudge begging hands
and when did you welcome disciples more
for the treasures they gave than the treasures they were?

Now, in the dark of Gethsemane’s garden,
you touch greedy lips to the Master’s cheek –
a cheap giveaway to your cohorts of night.

Irene Zimmerman, OSF
Woman Un-Bent

Painting by Mattias Stom: Christ before Caiaphas



Painting by Antonio Ciseri: Jesus Christ on Trial

Holy Thursday . . . so many feet to wash . . .

Holy Thursday ~ God in an Apron!

 

 A Prayer for Washing Feet by Macrina Wiederkehr

(from Seasons of Your Heart)

Jesus, is it really you kneeling before me with the bowl of water in your hands? I’d feel more comfortable if we could trade places. I wouldn't mind kneeling before you, but you before me? I can’t let you love me that much. Your piercing eyes suddenly heal my pride. I’m able to accept your gift of love and I am blessed. O Gift Giving God, I blush with the memory of gifts I've refused because they weren't given my way.

God in an Apron by Macrina Wiederkehr
(from Seasons of Your Heart)

Supper was special that night. There was both a heaviness and a holiness hanging in the air. We couldn't explain the mood. It was sacred, yet sorrowful.  Gathered around that table eating that solemn, holy meal seemed to us the most important meal we had ever sat down to eat.

We were dwelling in the heart of mystery. Though dark the night, hope felt right as if something evil was about to be conquered. And then suddenly the One we loved startled us all. He got up from the table and put on an apron. Can you imagine how we felt?

 God in an apron! Tenderness encircled us as He bowed before us. He knelt and said, “I choose to wash your feet because I love you.” 

God in an apron, kneeling. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was embarrassed until his eye met mine.  I sensed my value then. He touched my feet. He held them in his strong, brown hands. He washed them. I can still feel the water. I can still feel the touch of his hands. I can still see the look in his eyes.

The he handed me the towel and said, “As I have done so you must do.” Learn to bow – Learn to kneel. Let your tenderness encircle everyone you meet. Wash their feet not because you have to, because you want to.

It seems I've stood two thousand years holding the towel in my hands, “As I have done so you must do,” keeps echoing in my heart.

 “There are so many feet to wash,” I keep saying. “No,” I hear God’s voice resounding through the years, “There are only my feet – what you do for them you do for me.”

Spy Wednesday

Holy Wednesday ~ Spy Wednesday ~ Great Wednesday!

This is the day that stories speak of Judas Iscariot as moving to the “dark side” to conspire with the religious leaders to betray Jesus and hand him over to be arrested. I often think of the writings of Megan McKenna and a particular story she tells within a story. It goes like this: Megan was driving the back roads of Ireland’s countryside listening to the radio. There had been a short-story writing contest and the stories submitted were to be limited to thirty words.  As she was listening to the stories being read over the radio – the following entry was read:

“Welcome home, son!
Hello, father.
It is so good to see you.  It’s been a long time.
Yes, father, a very long time.  It was hard.
Hard as nails.  Hard as wood.
I know.  What was the hardest?
The kiss, father, the kiss. (long pause)
Yes.  Come in and let me hold you.”

Megan continues with her story – “I nearly drove off the road.  Within seconds I was crying and had to pull over.  It hit me hard.  I was overwhelmed by the realization that sin is evil and terrible, and some sin is more evil and more terrible . . .” (From LENT by Megan McKenna)

 

Poem: The Cold Within by James Patrick Kinney

Six humans trapped by happenstance
In Dark and bitter cold
Each one possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story’s told.

Their dying fire in need of logs,
The first woman held hers back.
For on the faces around the fire,
She noticed one was black.

The next man looking cross the way,
Saw one not of his church,
And couldn’t bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes,
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use,
To warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store.
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man’s face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.

The logs held tight in death’s still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn’t die from the cold without,
They died from – THE COLD WITHIN.

Holy Tuesday . . .

 

 

If you can't let go completely, try to 'hang on loose.’ (Melodie Beattie)

The process of letting go is never easy and certainly is not one we enjoy. The process calls us to move from comfort, security, routine, success, control, efforting to be right, and certainty to a space of high anxiety, insecurity, uncertainty, dis-ease, not knowing, experiencing inner and outer chaos, loss of balance in our way of living and sometimes we even move into a “fog of forgetfulness.”

It is a place of many questions, of facing fears, struggling against disconnecting and disassociating and possibly having to even name our illusions.  We struggle to walk in faith – having only enough light for the next step – and we attempt to believe through it all, that in this place of paradox, ambiguity, and confusion that God is our faithful companion, loving us intensely and creating us anew!

 + + +

To let go does not mean to stop caring,
it means I can’t do it for someone else.

To let go is not to cut myself off,
it’s the realization I can’t control another.

To let go is not to enable,
but allow learning from natural consequences.

To let go is to admit powerlessness, which means
the outcome is not in my hands.

To let go is not to try to change or blame another,
it’s to make the most of myself.

To let go is not to care for,
but to care about.

To let go is not to fix,
but to be supportive.

To let go is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.

To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their destinies.

To let go is not to be protective,
it’s to permit another to face reality.

To let go is not to deny,
but to accept.

To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.

To let go is not to criticize or regulate anybody,
but to try to become what I dream I can be.

To let go is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.

To let go is to fear less and love more
and
To let go and to let God, is to find peace!
Remember: The time to love is short.

                                     “Letting Go Takes Love”,  Author unknown

Image by Michael O'Brien
 

Holy Monday . . .

Anointings in Bethany (John 12:1-11)

Solemnly, Mary entered the room, holding high the alabaster jar. It gleamed in the lamplight as she circled the room, incensing the disciples, blessing Martha’s banquet. “A splendid table!” Mary called with her eyes as she whirled past her sister.

She came to a halt at last before Jesus, bowed profoundly and knelt at his feet. Deftly, she filled her right hand with nard, placed the jar on the floor, took one foot in her hands and moved fragrant fingers across his instep.

Over and over she made the journey from heel to toes, thanking him for every step he had made on Judea’s stony hills, for every stop at their home, for bringing back Lazarus.

She poured out more nard, took his other foot in her hands and started again with strong, rhythmic strokes. She felt her hands’ heat draw out his tiredness, take away the rebuffs he had known – the shut doors, the shut hearts.

Energy flowed like a river between them.  His saturated skin gleamed with oil. She had no towel!

In an instant she pulled off her veil, pulled the pins from her hair, shook it out till it fell in cascades, and once more cradled each foot, dried the ankles, the insteps, drew the strands between his toes.

Without warning, Judas Iscariot spat out his anger, the words hissing like lightning above her unveiled head: “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?”

 “Leave her alone!” Jesus silenced the usurper. “She brought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.”

The words poured like oil, anointing her from head to foot. 

From: Woman Un-Bent by Irene Zimmerman

Another time . . .Spring!!!

 

Springtime Prayer
 by Joyce Rupp  (Out of the Ordinary)

Ever-renewing and energizing Creator,
Come, stir in my dormant spiritual limbs.

Wake up my tired prayer.
Revive my weary efforts of care.
Sing hope into my discouragement.

Wash my dusty, drab attitude
with the cleansing rains of your vision.
Go deep to my roots and penetrate my faith
with the vibrancy of your grace.

Shake loose the old leftover oak leaves
of my tenacious ego-centeredness.
Coax joy to sprout from my difficulties.

Warm the buds of my relationships
so they bloom with healthy love.
Clear out my wintered debris
with the wild breeze of your liberating presence.

Nudge me, woo me, entice me, draw me to you.
I give you my trust and my gratitude as you
grace my slowly thawing spirit.

Light-filled Being, my Joy and my Hope,
let the greening in me begin.

And God saw that it was good . . .

 

A first day of spring reflection . . .

 

On the day of Judgment God will only ask one question:
 “Did you enjoy my world?” (Traditional Jewish Saying)

 

She stands sentineled near the water’s edge, surrounded by birch, ash, and maple companions with vines entwined between her exposed ground roots. This white oak remains upright and almost motionless as the whispers of the lake breezes float through her branches. Gentle winds seem to tease her leaves as if prompting them to stir with laughter. Her sapwood continues to produce leaves that encircle her like a crown, while her center’s heartwood is now completely spent. This is the prized wood sought after for special wood artistry. Yet she thrives. She becomes our teacher and speaks these wisdoms to us:
♦ Live life by giving your heart-center away.
♦ Always provide shade and shelter for those who seek refuge from this world’s storms.
♦ Be sure to have friends stand by you when struggles find you.
♦ Seek nourishment from the waters of laughter, prayer, love, and solitude.
♦ Enjoy the beauty of creation and let butterflies teach you about transformation.
♦ Dream often and reach beyond the possible.
♦ Practice speaking words of comfort, mercy, and forgiveness.
♦ Don’t be afraid to bend and risk a new perspective.
♦ Always be a learner and trust in your talents.
♦ Be curious and chance walking to the edge.
♦ Be content when your growth is steady and slow,

for that is what makes you of value.

 

 

 

Ready, Set . . .

The Master gives himself up
to whatever the moment brings.
He knows that he is going to die,
and he has nothing left to hold on to,
no illusions of the mind,
no resistances in his body.

He doesn't think about his actions;
they flow from the core of his being.
He holds nothing back from life;
therefore he is ready for death,
as a man is ready for sleep
after a good day's work.
 --Lao Tzu

God of our present and future . . .

Photo by: AB

Litany of God's Names

by Joseph Sobb, S.J.

O God of silence and quietness, you call us to be still and know you -
O God of steadfast love, your Spirit is poured into our hearts –
O God of compassion, your Word is our light and hope –
O God of faithfulness, you fill our hearts with joy –
O God of life and truth, from you we receive every gift –

O God of healing and peace, you open us to divine grace –
O God of all creation, our beginning and our end –
O God of salvation, you reconcile all things in Jesus, -
O God of Jesus, conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit –
O God of Jesus, who invites us, “Come and see” –
O God of Jesus, who was tempted as we all are –

O God of Jesus, who is your pledge of saving love –
O God of Sarah and Abraham, from whom came  Jesus -
O God of Anna and Simeon, who recognized Jesus, your Son,
 as Messiah –
O God of Mary, who bore Jesus, -  

O God of Joseph, to whose fatherly care was entrusted Jesus, -
O God of all generations, of all times and seasons and peoples –
O God of our mothers and fathers, of all who have loved us –
O God of our past; O God of our future –
O God of our present, O God in our present -

Photo by: JF

From March Gladness to March Madness . . .

Previously posted: March 2013

Here in the USA, NCAA March Madness has been set in motion. It is all about college basketball tournaments in Men’s and Women’s respective divisions. Sports related sites state: it is “a feverish month of college basketball filled with more than 60 games across the country,” and “three weeks of legendary performances, fantastic finishes — and the alternating agony and ecstasy of predictions gone right or wrong.” Well this is the extent of my sports expertise. Unfortunately, I can’t tell the difference between brackets and braces or sort out the groupings of The Final Four or The Magnificent Seven!  However, I think this March Madness term can be a clue as to what will happen in the Scriptures as we attend to the readings of the Passion in the week called, Holy Week.

Holy Week presents us with the reading of the Passion after processing with palms. Then we listen to the reading of the Gospel of Luke telling again the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem.  Here begins the March Gladness which will eventually be turned into March Madness on Good Friday . . . These readings are filled with much symbolism. I suggest you consider reading a biblical commentary, i.e., Preaching the New Lectionary by Dianne Bergant, Year C . 

Jesus enters riding upon a colt. He will meet throngs of people cheering Hosannas now and later hurling shouts of “crucify him.” Religious and political leaders presently puzzled now, already plotting in their hearts how to get rid of this “presence that disturbs.” No banners and no bands.  To those who believe in him,  he is the Good News that now comes in gladness only to enter into the Good Friday madness of darkness, anger, resentment, and hate. He will stare evil in the face – this, too, will be a legendary performance with a fantastic finish - alternating with the agony and ecstasy of predictions gone right - gone Mysteriously right!

 

 

 

The God of mystery and mercy . . .

 

God Be With Us

May God be with us in strength, holding us in strong-fingered hands; and may we be the sacrament of God’s strength to those whose hands we hold.

May God be with us in gentleness, touching us with sunlight and rain and wind. May God’s tenderness shine through us to warm all who are hurt and lonely.

May God be with us in wonder, delighting us with thunder and song, sunrise and daisy; enchanting our senses, filling our hearts, giving us wide-open eyes for seeing and splendor in the humble and majestic. And may we open the eyes and hearts of the blind and the insensitive.

May God be with us in love and friendship, listening to us, speaking to us, drawing us close as we tremble at the edge of self-gift.  May God’s love in us light fires of faith and hope, glow in our eyes and meet God’s love glowing in the eyes of our friends.

May God be with us in compassion, holding us close when we are weary and hurt and alone – when there is rain in our heart. And may we be the warm hands and the warm eyes of compassion for our friends when they reach out to us in need.

May God be with us in joy, thrilling us with nearness, filling our heart to fullness and filling our throat to ringing, singing exultation.

May God be with us in peace, stilling the heart that hammers with fear and doubt and confusion, and may our peace, the warm mantle of your peace, cover those who are troubled or anxious.

May God be with us in simplicity, opening us to a clearer vision of what is real and true, leading us deeply into the mystery of life and may our dealings with others be marked by honesty.

May God be with us today and every day. May God hold each of us, empowering us with understanding, love, and respect.
May God’s forgiveness touch our hearts, enabling us to forgive ourselves and each other.

And finally, may we experience God’s peace and the joy that results from unity and prayer, shared values, and common vision
Author Unknown

Lent . . .giving up or giving over?

 

 

 

Poem: "For Lent" by Monica Lavia

What are you giving up for Lent? Adam asked of Eve.
Well, Eve said. I am thinking I should give up apples.
And what about you, husband of mine?
Adam replied, I think I am going to give up taking advice from you.

What are you giving up for Lent?
Abel asked his brother Cain?
Cain replied, I am going to try to give up my anger
Lest in a weak moment, I injure someone I love.

What are you giving up for Lent?
Jacob asked his twin, Esau.
Apparently my birthright, little brother of mine.

What are you giving up for Lent?
Moses asked of Aaron?
I am going to give up worshiping false gods
Especially the golden calf variety.
What about you? Aaron asked Moses in return.
I am giving up my need to see the promised land.

What are you giving up for lent?
Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar asked Job.
I am giving up trying to understand the mind of God.

What are you giving up for Lent? I asked of Mary.
She whispered her response so softly
I had to move in close to her to hear her hushed reply:
My only Son

"Mercied" . . . Touched to the core with mercy . . .

I am touched to the core with a presence I cannot explain. A loving plan enfolds me. Someone is always believing in me, calling me forth, calling me on. I am standing in grace filled with mystery touched with the eternal.  I cannot get away from goodness. I think I name you, God.” (An Amazing Presence by Macrina Wiederkehr)

This Sunday’s Gospel is the story of the adulteress woman “caught in the act” and brought before Jesus by the Scribes and Pharisees. Seems her lover was given the nod to run off and not be held accountable for this crime against the Mosaic Law.  I have often wondered how they were able to get her to this place of exposure without pushing or pulling her or touching her. Was that not a crime as well that made them “unclean"?  It was a set up. They were trying to trap Jesus saying something incriminating so they could bring charges against him.

Jesus is cornered and caught in the act, but in what God does best – pouring forth unconditional compassion, forgiveness, and love. He stoops to write in the dirt not once, but twice. Even though we know not what he wrote, could we imagine that it was her name – for her accusers call her, “this woman,” Or maybe - "you are loved."  He then stands up to look not only in her eyes, but deep into her soul – and invites her to trust being loved unconditionally without judgment, exploitation, or condemnation.

He reaches into the very depths of her heart with mercy - there to catch her with the grace of forgiveness, and invites her to sin no more – not just for the next half hour, or the next day – but for the rest of her life!  He catches her in the act of sorrow, offers healing and freedom, and has her claim her new way of being woman – believing in herself – and knowing that God believes in her!

He then stands and turns only to prepare himself to have the “rocks of lies” cast at him as he moves deeper into the week named Passover. There he will be “caught in the act” of being betrayed, judged, stripped, crucified, buried – but already making plans to break the Law once again by not staying dead – for no stone can keep God’s power contained!!

The Prodigal's Mother

 

The Return of the Prodigal Son by Ivor Williams (1908-1982)

 

The Mother of the Prodigal Son

 

Where is the mother of the prodigal son
On that day so long ago?
What were her thoughts
And what were her fears
As she watched him turn to go?

 

How many times in the dark of night
Did the tears slide down her face?
Did she get out of bed
And fall on her knees,
Just to pray that her boy was safe?

 

How were the days when she did not know
Was he alive? Was he warm? Was he well?
Who were his friends?
And where did he sleep?
Was there anyone there she could tell?

 

But, oh, on that day when she looked down the road
As she had looked since her son went away,
Did love unspeakable flood her soul?
Did she cry?
What did she say?

 

I think when the father had welcomed their son
And the boy had greeted his brother,
That the servants made a path
For him to enter the door
And the waiting arms of his mother.
Author: Chis