Here’s a good thing: to celebrate the

Holy Eucharist

in my fifty third year a priest. Scarcely a

Sunday missed.

 

Often in a musty church, dead flies lying

on the sill

where the two or three are gathered still.

 

Sometimes in a great church chancel wafted heavenward

by the choir; rendering polyphonic music to impress the Lord.

 

Or at the bedside, sacrament of wine and bread, spoon-fed

to the very sick or dying. Masses nuptial or masses for the dead -

 

they add up. And even now the sacred mystery of Christ’s death

and rise, awakes surprise, lives in the mouth, the heart and every breath

 

Comfortable I am among the things of God, and with God’s flock

taking naught for granted, careful not to disrespect; but walk

 

humbly before the wondrous God; who is incarnate, in humanity enfleshed

everything but sin to share, with all our pain, our joy, our

temporality enmeshed

 

and more! The Maker of the universe has the secret code, the key

to enter into physicality, to hide within created things, eternity

 

to be the Maker’s making,

Heaven forsaking.

 

in the dirt of earth

God takes birth.

 

I know. Enough to make you

die of mirth!