FURSA IN LENT: Day Thirty-Three by Paul Wallis

March 22, 2013

From Be Thou My Breastplate May the Holy Spirit dwell in this heart. (Fursa’s Breastplate) The ancient Celts loved the Psalms.  They resonated with the earthly emotionality of the Psalms, their sense of poetry and the broad scope of them, embracing every human hope and fear.  The Psalms were often the first literature that Celtic children learned to read, for the Psalter was always the text the brothers used when teaching the people of their hamlets and villages to read for the first time. Many of the Hebrew Psalms were forged in times of conflict and battle, producing words of prayer with a deep resonance for the Celtic peoples who lived through the turbulent and violent centuries of the Dark Ages.  The Celts also loved [...]

POETRY: A Psalm, by Thomas Merton

August 10, 2012

When psalms surprise me with their music And antiphons turn to rum The Spirit sings: the bottom drops out of my soul And from the center of my cellar, Love, louder than thunder Opens a heaven of naked air. New eyes awaken. I send Love’s name into the world with wings And songs grow up around me like a jungle. Choirs of all creatures sing the tunes Your Spirit played in Eden. Zebras and antelopes and birds of paradise Shine on the face of the abyss And I am drunk with the great wilderness Of the sixth day in Genesis. But sound is never half so fair As when that music turns to air And the universe dies of excellence. Sun, moon and stars Fall from their heavenly towers. Joys walk no longer down the blue world’s shore. Though fires [...]

POETRY: Two Takes On The Psalms — Poems by Cliff Ashby and Scott Cairns

July 11, 2012

Latter Day Psalms 1 Somewhere there is Grace, Lord, Was I not told it as a child When the sound of the sparrow Filled my heart with delight And the rain fell like friendship on my head. Now the call of the cuckoo Cannot calm my aching heart And my soul is tormented with fear. Have mercy, Lord, for I have travelled far Yet all my knowledge is as nothing. My days are numbered. Time titters As I stumble down the street. Forgiveness, O forgive me, Lord, Close my critical eye Take me to your breast For how else may I die. 2 The tree waves in the wind But does not break unless The bough is over-burdened. When spring disrupts the dead days Buds, leaves, and birds praise God In song and silent sound. The dead dock, stiff With last year’s pride, [...]