SAINT  AGNES

Poem for Today - January 21, 2014

THE EVE OF ST. AGNES

I.   ST. AGNES’ Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!   The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;   The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,   And silent was the flock in woolly fold:   Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers, while he told         5   His rosary, and while his frosted breath,   Like pious incense from a censer old,   Seem’d taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin’s picture, while his prayer he saith. II.   His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;         10   Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,   And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,   Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:   The sculptur’d dead, on each side, seem to freeze,   Emprison’d in black, purgatorial rails:         15   Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat’ries,   He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails. III.   Northward he turneth through a little door,   And scarce three steps, ere Music’s golden tongue         20   Flatter’d to tears this aged man and poor;   But no—already had his deathbell rung;   The joys of all his life were said and sung:   His was harsh penance on St. Agnes’ Eve:   Another way he went, and soon among         25   Rough ashes sat he for his soul’s reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners’ sake to grieve. IV.   That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;   And so it chanc’d, for many a door was wide,   From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,         30   The silver, snarling trumpets ’gan to chide:   The level chambers, ready with their pride,   Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:   The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,   Star’d, where upon their heads the cornice rests,         35 With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts. V.   At length burst in the argent revelry,   With plume, tiara, and all rich array,   Numerous as shadows haunting fairily   The brain, new stuff d, in youth, with triumphs gay         40   Of old romance. These let us wish away,   And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there,   Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,   On love, and wing’d St. Agnes’ saintly care, As she had heard old dames full many times declare.         45 VI.   They told her how, upon St. Agnes’ Eve,   Young virgins might have visions of delight,   And soft adorings from their loves receive   Upon the honey’d middle of the night,   If ceremonies due they did aright;         50   As, supperless to bed they must retire,   And couch supine their beauties, lily white;   Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire. VII.   Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:         55   The music, yearning like a God in pain,   She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,   Fix’d on the floor, saw many a sweeping train   Pass by—she heeded not at all: in vain   Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,         60   And back retir’d; not cool’d by high disdain,   But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere: She sigh’d for Agnes’ dreams, the sweetest of the year. VIII.   She danc’d along with vague, regardless eyes,   Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short:         65   The hallow’d hour was near at hand: she sighs   Amid the timbrels, and the throng’d resort   Of whisperers in anger, or in sport;   ’Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,   Hoodwink’d with faery fancy; all amort,         70   Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn. IX.   So, purposing each moment to retire,   She linger’d still. Meantime, across the moors,   Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire         75   For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,   Buttress’d from moonlight, stands he, and implores   All saints to give him sight of Madeline,   But for one moment in the tedious hours,   That he might gaze and worship all unseen;         80 Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss—in sooth such things have been. X.   He ventures in: let no buzz’d whisper tell:   All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords   Will storm his heart, Love’s fev’rous citadel:   For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,         85   Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,   Whose very dogs would execrations howl   Against his lineage: not one breast affords   Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.         90 XI.   Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,   Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,   To where he stood, hid from the torch’s flame,   Behind a broad hail-pillar, far beyond   The sound of merriment and chorus bland:         95   He startled her; but soon she knew his face,   And grasp’d his fingers in her palsied hand,   Saying, “Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place; “They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty race! XII.   “Get hence! get hence! there’s dwarfish Hildebrand;         100   “He had a fever late, and in the fit   “He cursed thee and thine, both house and land:   “Then there ’s that old Lord Maurice, not a whit   “More tame for his gray hairs—Alas me! flit!   “Flit like a ghost away.”—“Ah, Gossip dear,         105   “We’re safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit,   “And tell me how”—“Good Saints! not here, not here; “Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier.” XIII.   He follow’d through a lowly arched way,   Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume;         110   And as she mutter’d “Well-a—well-a-day!”   He found him in a little moonlight room,   Pale, lattic’d, chill, and silent as a tomb.   “Now tell me where is Madeline,” said he,   “O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom         115   “Which none but secret sisterhood may see, “When they St. Agnes’ wool are weaving piously.” XIV.   “St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes’ Eve—   “Yet men will murder upon holy days:   “Thou must hold water in a witch’s sieve,         120   “And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays,   “To venture so: it fills me with amaze   “To see thee, Porphyro!—St. Agnes’ Eve!   “God’s help! my lady fair the conjuror plays   “This very night: good angels her deceive!         125 “But let me laugh awhile, I’ve mickle time to grieve.” XV.   Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,   While Porphyro upon her face doth look,   Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone   Who keepeth clos’d a wond’rous riddle-book,         130   As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.   But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told   His lady’s purpose; and he scarce could brook   Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold, And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.         135 XVI.   Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,   Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart   Made purple riot: then doth he propose   A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:   “A cruel man and impious thou art:         140   “Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream   “Alone with her good angels, far apart   “From wicked men like thee. Go, go!—I deem “Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem. XVII.   “I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,”         145   Quoth Porphyro: “O may I ne’er find grace   “When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,   “If one of her soft ringlets I displace,   “Or look with ruffian passion in her face:   “Good Angela, believe me by these tears;         150   “Or I will, even in a moment’s space,   “Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen’s ears, “And beard them, though they be more fang’d than wolves and bears.” XVIII.   “Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?   “A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing,         155   “Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;   “Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,   “Were never miss’d.”—Thus plaining, doth she bring   A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;   So woful, and of such deep sorrowing,         160   That Angela gives promise she will do Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. XIX.   Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,   Even to Madeline’s chamber, and there hide   Him in a closet, of such privacy         165   That he might see her beauty unespied,   And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,   While legion’d fairies pac’d the coverlet,   And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.   Never on such a night have lovers met,         170 Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt. XX.   “It shall be as thou wishest,” said the Dame:   “All cates and dainties shall be stored there   “Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame   “Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare,         175   “For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare   “On such a catering trust my dizzy head.   “Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer   “The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, “Or may I never leave my grave among the dead.”         180 XXI.   So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.   The lover’s endless minutes slowly pass’d;   The dame return’d, and whisper’d in his ear   To follow her; with aged eyes aghast   From fright of dim espial. Safe at last,         185   Through many a dusky gallery, they gain   The maiden’s chamber, silken, hush’d, and chaste;   Where Porphyro took covert, pleas’d amain. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. XXII.   Her falt’ring hand upon the balustrade,         190   Old Angela was feeling for the stair,   When Madeline, St. Agnes’ charmed maid,   Rose, like a mission’d spirit, unaware:   With silver taper’s light, and pious care,   She turn’d, and down the aged gossip led         195   To a safe level matting. Now prepare,   Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray’d and fled. XXIII.   Out went the taper as she hurried in;   Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:         200   She clos’d the door, she panted, all akin   To spirits of the air, and visions wide:   No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!   But to her heart, her heart was voluble,   Paining with eloquence her balmy side;         205   As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell. XXIV.   A casement high and triple-arch’d there was,   All garlanded with carven imag’ries   Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,         210   And diamonded with panes of quaint device,   Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,   As are the tiger-moth’s deep-damask’d wings;   And in the midst, ’mong thousand heraldries,   And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,         215 A shielded scutcheon blush’d with blood of queens and kings. XXV.   Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,   And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breast,   As down she knelt for heaven’s grace and boon;   Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,         220   And on her silver cross soft amethyst,   And on her hair a glory, like a saint:   She seem’d a splendid angel, newly drest,   Save wings, for heaven:—Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.         225 XXVI.   Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,   Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;   Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;   Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees   Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:         230   Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,   Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,   In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. XXVII.   Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,         235   In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex’d she lay,   Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress’d   Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;   Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;   Blissfully haven’d both from joy and pain;         240   Clasp’d like a missal where swart Paynims pray;   Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. XXVIII.   Stol’n to this paradise, and so entranced,   Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,         245   And listen’d to her breathing, if it chanced   To wake into a slumberous tenderness;   Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,   And breath’d himself: then from the closet crept,   Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,         250   And over the hush’d carpet, silent, stept, And ’tween the curtains peep’d, where, lo!—how fast she slept. XXIX.   Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon   Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set   A table, and, half anguish’d, threw thereon         255   A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:—   O for some drowsy Morphean amulet!   The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,   The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,   Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:—         260 The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. XXX.   And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,   In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender’d,   While he from forth the closet brought a heap   Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;         265   With jellies soother than the creamy curd,   And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;   Manna and dates, in argosy transferr’d   From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar’d Lebanon.         270 XXXI.   These delicates he heap’d with glowing hand   On golden dishes and in baskets bright   Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand   In the retired quiet of the night,   Filling the chilly room with perfume light.—         275   “And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!   “Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:   “Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes’ sake, “Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.” XXXII.   Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm         280   Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream   By the dusk curtains:—’twas a midnight charm   Impossible to melt as iced stream:   The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;   Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:         285   It seem’d he never, never could redeem   From such a stedfast spell his lady’s eyes; So mus’d awhile, entoil’d in woofed phantasies. XXXIII.   Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,—   Tumultuous,—and, in chords that tenderest be,         290   He play’d an ancient ditty, long since mute,   In Provence call’d, “La belle dame sans mercy:”   Close to her ear touching the melody;—   Wherewith disturb’d, she utter’d a soft moan:   He ceased—she panted quick—and suddenly         295   Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. XXXIV.   Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,   Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:   There was a painful change, that nigh expell’d         300   The blisses of her dream so pure and deep   At which fair Madeline began to weep,   And moan forth witless words with many a sigh;   While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep;   Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye,         305 Fearing to move or speak, she look’d so dreamingly. XXXV.   “Ah, Porphyro!” said she, “but even now   “Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,   “Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;   “And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:         310   “How chang’d thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear!   “Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,   “Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!   “Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, “For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.”         315 XXXVI.   Beyond a mortal man impassion’d far   At these voluptuous accents, he arose,   Ethereal, flush’d, and like a throbbing star   Seen mid the sapphire heaven’s deep repose;   Into her dream he melted, as the rose         320   Blendeth its odour with the violet,—   Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows   Like Love’s alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes’ moon hath set. XXXVII.   ’Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:         325   “This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!”   ’Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat:   “No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine!   “Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.—   “Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring?         330   “I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,   “Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;— “A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing.” XXXVIII.   “My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!   “Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?         335   “Thy beauty’s shield, heart-shap’d and vermeil dyed?   “Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest   “After so many hours of toil and quest,   “A famish’d pilgrim,—saved by miracle.   “Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest         340   “Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think’st well “To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.” XXXIX.   ’Hark! ’tis an elfin-storm from faery land,   “Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:   “Arise—arise! the morning is at hand;—         345   “The bloated wassaillers will never heed:—   “Let us away, my love, with happy speed;   “There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,—   “Drown’d all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:   “Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be,         350 “For o’er the southern moors I have a home for thee.” XL.   She hurried at his words, beset with fears,   For there were sleeping dragons all around,   At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears—   Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found.—         355   In all the house was heard no human sound.   A chain-droop’d lamp was flickering by each door;   The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,   Flutter’d in the besieging wind’s uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.         360 XLI.   They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;   Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide;   Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,   With a huge empty flaggon by his side;   The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,         365   But his sagacious eye an inmate owns:   By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:—   The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;— The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groan. XLII.   And they are gone: ay, ages long ago         370   These lovers fled away into the storm.   That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe,   And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form   Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm,   Were long be-nightmar’d. Angela the old         375   Died palsy-twitch’d, with meagre face deform;   The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold.  John Keats (1795–1821).  The Poetical Works of John Keats.  1884.

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.

Poem for Today - January 20, 2014

Remembering A Life

I remember him in the misted vision of toddler years
and again in girlhood, the booming voice on TV, 
someone grown-ups talked about, eyelids flapped wide.
Elders huddled ''round the screen enraptured,
in fear for him, in awe.

I remember him.
His words swept the land, singing our passion.
Dogs growled in streets. Men in sheets.
Police battering my people. (Water, a weapon.)
Yet my people would rejoice... And mourn.

I remember him, a fearsome warrior crying peace,
a man--blemished by clay, the stain of sin as
any other, calling on the Rock--
Death''s sickle on his coat tails,
yet he spied glory.

Shall we walk again and remember him,
not as the Madison Aveners do,
but in solitude and hope
with acts of courage and compassion,
with lives of greater scope
carving fresh paths of righteousness?

I remember. 

Copyright © January 2004 Nordette Adams 

SIN IN THE SINGULAR

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this Second Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A -  is, “Sin In the Singular.”

Today’s gospel begins with John the Baptist seeing Jesus coming towards him and he says, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”

Notice "sin" is in the singular.

Right before communion at every Mass the priest holding Christ  up above the altar says, “Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world.”

Notice "sins" is in the plural.

Through the years I’ve noticed preachers and teachers speaking about sin and sins. Singular and plural …. mostly plural.

Sometimes I get a grasp on the difference, sometimes I don’t.

WHAT WAS THE SERMON ABOUT?

There is an old sermon story - with variations - about the kid who skipped church - to play basketball with some buddies in the playground across from the street from the church. When he saw folks coming out of church he yelled to his buddies, “I’ll see you!”

He runs across the street and says to this man coming out of church, “What was the sermon about?”

He did this because he knew his parents would ask that very question when he got home.

The man says, “The sermon was about sin.”

The kid asked, “What did he say about it?”

The man answered, “He was against it.”

Well, if you want to know what this sermon is about - it’s about sin.

And what am I going to say about it?

I am going to say that everyone has sin in the singular in them and it goes against us. As for sins in the plural - the sins varies.

CATECHISM ANSWERS

As Catholics we are very aware of hearing about sins in the plural.

All our lives we’ve heard about original sin - and then mortal and venial sins. We’ve heard about the Seven Capital Sins and we’ve heard about Sins of Omission and Sins of Commission.

A few years back there was talk about 3 types of sin: mortal, venial, and in between, serious sin. It was an attempt - I think - to deal with degrees - and to help people who thought they were committing mortal sins every day of the week - mortal meaning deadly.

But I’ve heard less about that serious sin -“tweeers” - between mortal and venial -  these last 25 years.

Then our catechisms teach us about conscience: to have a healthy moral conscience, Then they add that we can have a scrupulous conscience or  an uninformed conscience - or a warped conscience.

Then we know that some people - including priests - are much stricter - and some much more lenient than other people.

And on and on and on.

Then we hear sermons where the preacher talks about C.S. Lewis or Dante - telling us that sins of the flesh - are less in soul damage than the deeper sins of pride - and betrayal - so Dante puts those folks in the lowest circles of hell.

Hopefully we’ve read and taken some adult formation in our faith - and we’ve gotten a better understanding of Christian morality.

SIN IN THE SINGULAR

What about sin in the singular - the title of this homily?

St. Paul in Romans and St. Augustine in his Confessions  tell us about sin in the singular.

It’s this tendency in all of us - more or less - towards laziness - or evil - or not wanting God in our lives - and it sneaks out of us with sins in the plural.

St. Paul and St. Augustine both scratch their heads and say, “Why do I make these self promises and keep breaking them?” “Why do I say I’m going to do this and I do that? Why? Why? Why?

I always remember Theodore Roethke bemoaning “the lies we tell to our energies.”

Last Monday we celebrated the feast of St. Hilary of Poitiers who wrote the following around the year 350, “There is an inertia in our nature that makes us dull.”

We’ve all heard the example from Native American theology - that we have two dogs inside of us - the good one and the bad one - and they are often fighting and barking inside of us. And the kids ask the teacher or wisdom figure: “Which dog wins?” And with a smile on his or her face, the wisdom teacher says, “The one we feed.”

20 years back there was lots of talking about this same Good Dog vs. Bad Dog - inner human reality going on in our soul. We all have within us the Original Blessing and Original Sin - Light and Darkness, Grace and Sin, Dr. Jeckle and Dr. Hyde. It’s also described as The Dream vs. The Nightmare.  We’re aware from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s “I Have a Dream Sermon” that we have Dreams for the Best in us and he experienced the horror of the Worst - The Nightmare of Evil - coming out of folks.

So sin in the singular is not specific sin - but an overall - deep - slow self pushing for self tendency - a deep giving in or giving up or grabbing, grabbing, grabbing, or me, me, meism - or a deep spiritual laziness that can kill us.

We don’t know what Adam and Eve’s sin was - so we call it the original sin. I don’t know about you, but when I am at a baptism it feels funny to be talking about sin - when seeing and talking about this beautiful little tiny baby girl or boy in our midst.

I know the Catechism stuff on all this - both the Baltimore Catechism and the Catechism of 1992 - and the theology book stuff - but it still feels strange - till I think of sin in the singular.  It’s then that baptism makes more sense for me.

We’re asking God to bless this baby from the beginning with help in dealing with me, me, meism - and that this baby experiences around him or her support and love and challenge and good example from a family and a community of we, we, we - that we’re all in this together.

That right from the beginning this little one gets good example - support - challenge  - with his or her tendency - which will be with him or her for life - this deep tendency towards good and evil  - the choice for me or we.

Adults who are  baptized as adults obviously  have the great advantage and opportunity to be aware of all this - as well as to look into their life so far - and get a fresh start like all those adults baptized by John the Baptist - as well as all those adults - as well as kids - coming into the Christian Community in the early church.

TODAY’S READINGS

Today’s first reading from Isaiah says that the basic posture towards life is to serve - to become a servant - and the little person - or adult being baptized - hopefully learns that by being served.  They  then follow suit. Today’s first reading also has the image of light - and sin in the singular is a tendency to hide in the dark - like Adam and Eve did when they sinned. Little kids do this instinctively when they do bad bads. Adults caught put coats or bags or newspapers over their face as they head into a court house.

Today’s second reading from 1^st Corinthians adds that the human call is also to holiness - to see ourselves as with God and the whole human race - and that’s one more reason Christ came - to make us holy - whole persons - not just loners. As the song goes, “One is a lonely number!”  As in every 12 Step Program - there are things we can be powerless over - and we need God - and God’s Higher Power and Grace - to get going in a better direction - step by step - not going it alone - but with help and support and presence from each other. We all know alcoholics who keep failing because they try to recover on their own.

Anyone - and that’s all of us - have our addictions. It’s up to us to know and name our poisons. Poison in the singular - addiction in the singular - sin in the singular - I hold are basically the same human tendency - that nasty dog inside of us -  that makes us powerless. But for the grace of God, there go I over and over and over again.

Grace - a gift and the opposite to evil -  Hail Mary full of grace - is the gift of help from God and church that’s already inside of us - as well as all around us -  by our baptism - by the love of God for us - and we can work together as family and faith community - and great groups that we can belong to - that keep us going in great directions.

CONCLUSION

This is big picture stuff - this Sin in the Singular inside of all of us stuff.  We know about those two dogs inside us - Goody and Badie - the Dream and the Nightmare. We know about the light and darkness inside us - especially in moments of temptation. All of us have been humbled by our mistakes and sins - they bring us down to earth - humus from which the word humility comes from.

I’ve always been impressed by the writings of Nathaniel Hawthorne - where people wanted to throw rocks at Hester Prynne and has to wear The Scarlet Letter - A for Adultery. That town forgot what happened in another town - when a crowd of men with rocks in their hands brought a woman caught in adultery to Jesus. They forgot Jesus’ words, “Let him without sin throw that first stone!” and those in Jesus’ story dropped their rocks and walked away. They knew they had sin in their hearts. Hawthorne also has another story about the two ladies in this one town. One lady who knew sin said to the very proper lady who thought she was above sin and was always “tch, tch, tching” everyone else. “Hey you ought to go out and commit a really good sin and then you’ll understand the rest of us.”

Understanding sin in the singular, can help us understand not only ourselves, but each other.

Understanding sin in the singular, can help us see what John the Baptist saw in today’s gospel: Jesus in our midst always coming towards us and we say, “Behold the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”

KEEP PEEKING

Poem for Today - January 19, 2014

PREFACE TO A TWENTY 

VOLUME SUICIDE NOTE

Lately, l’ve become accustomed to the way

The ground opens up and envelops me

Each time I go out to walk the dog.

Or the broad edged silly music the wind

Makes when I run for a bus --

Things have come to that.

And now, each night I count the stars,

And each night I get the same number.

And when they will not come to be counted

I count the holes they leave.

Nobody sings anymore.

And then last night, I tiptoed up

To my daughter’s room and heard her

TaIking to someone, and when I opened

The door, there was no one there . . .

Only she on her knees,

Peeking into her own clasped hands.

                                                © Leroi Jones 

“Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note” 

by LeRoi Jones: copyright 1961 by LeRoi Jones, 

Corinth Books, New York.

DON'T MISS THE BEGGARS

Poem for Today - January 18, 2014

SEVEN WEALTHY TOWNS

Seven wealthy towns contend for Homer dead

Through which the living Homer begged his bread.

Anonymous

Sketch of Homer

the Poet - but nobody

knows what 

he looked like.