The Coming of Holy Week . . .

A few years ago while attending a workshop on Ignatian Spirituality,
I composed this poem.  I believe it is fitting at this time as we prepare
for Holy Week.

Servant freed! 

 

 

http://www.prayerwindows.com/

Used with permission ~ Image by: Fr. Bob Gilroy, SJ
 

I stand in the darkened fissure of the stable,
lit only by the glowing face of the boy-child.   
Parent eyes glistening with holy wonder,
while heavened stars point to                 
mangered Messiah.                                                                                 
I listen, I wonder, I breathe,             
for I am only servant.

I stand in the darkened temple portico
observing those of the Law encircling       
the teacher-child.                                                                   
His face radiates with                                               
purpose and passion about God’s call!         
I listen, I wonder, I breathe,                                             
for I am only servant.

I stand in the Cana garden among                                              
the six stoneware water jars.                                                    
His mother moving his mission,                                          
“Do whatever he tells you.”                                         
Waters of purification touched                                                 
with words of transformation                                               
become intoxicating wedding wine.                                           
Speak these words over me . . .                                                    
fill me to the brim with courage as                                               
I listen, as I wonder, as I breathe,                                              
for I am only servant.

I stand along the steep grassy edges
of the partial rocky hillside,                                                             
His face emits energy with each spoken,
“Blessed are you!”                                                                                         
I listen, I wonder, I breathe,                                                                                  
for I am only servant.

I stand in the upper room, corner-concealed,
yet his eyes beckon me to move                              
within his touch.                                                                   
His carpentered hands accept each foot                                               
as with the artistry of fitting rough hewn wood.
With tender, soothing, healing - intimate
knowing, he bends to wash my feet.

Upon this embrace - God-light, God-love
streams into my very soul-                                                                        

I listen and hear within me:                                         
Untie her.                                                                 
What do you want me to do for you?                                            
Pick up your mat.                                                                  
I do not condemn you.                                                             
You are worth more than many sparrows.                          
You are no longer servant –
you are friend.     
I wonder, I breathe . . .
 sjh