Ruminating on the Prodigal, Lent 4C

"'Warren,' she said, 'he has come home to die:
You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time.'
'Home,' he mocked gently. 'Yes, what else but home?

It all depends on what you mean by home.
Of course he's nothing to us, any more then was the hound that came a stranger to us
Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail.'

'Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in.'

'I should have called it
Something you somehow haven't to deserve.'"

excerpt from Death of the Hired Man, by Robert Frost

This leaves me with a question...

Would I have taken him in?

Sometimes The Spirit Catches Me

Little mite,
Solid and serious presence
Big, brown eyes.
Daring me to deny her
the passion of the Spirit.

Sometimes the Spirit catches me
and I cry.
So, don't worry, it's just the Spirit.
Earnest face nodding, sisters gathered round,
It's true, it's true.

Five or six at the time.
A recent vision at fifteen--
With hand on jutted hip,
Jaw moving wildly around fruited gum.
Watching the boys, all basketballs and muscled arms.

It's true, it's true.
Slim fit jeans,
Adorning her sass.
Don't worry.
But I do.

Catch her, Spirit,
Do.

A baptism

A Poem For M’s Baptism Day

Her head is bundled with gauze.
Her round eyes are unblinking in her mother’s arms.

New to the world, she and her twin
(a fat and happy little creature)
Are shepherded into the light.

Her heart beats,
Her ribs contract as she breathes.
Pressed to her mother’s cheek
She is silent.

I drip sterile water into a small shell,
My hands shake.

The surgeon is silent as she sews.

The smallest of droplets upon her cheek
The Trinity…we pray,
I anoint her with oil.

Welcome to the household of God,
May light perpetual shine upon you.