Daily homily thoughts, 11/27

There is
No difficulty that enough love will not conquer;
No disease that enough love will not heal;
No door that enough love will not open;
No gulf that enough love will not bridge;
No wall that enough love will not throw down;
No sin that enough love will not redeem.
It makes no difference
How deeply seated may be the trouble,
How hopeless the outlook,
How muddled the tangle,
How great the mistake;
A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.
If only you could love enough
you would be the happiest and most
powerful being in the world.
– Emmet Fox

Before you know what kindness really is

Now this is a great poem

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

Naomi Shihab Nye

Immaculate Conception

To Mary Immaculate

O Lady, garbed in priestly white,
Hark to the prayer of thy humble knight.

Thou hast, an ever gracious queen,
Walked through my childhood days serene.

Thy mantle of the sky-blue gleam
Has somehow tinged my every dream.

Thy pale soft hands so strangely strong
Have gently guided me so long.

When deepest sorrows darked my road,
Thy love still like a beacon glowed.

Thy queenly kindness, mother-maid,
With gentle force has always swayed
My destiny…and so it be eternally.

Frederick M Lynk, SVD

Poem I used in Michael Xavier’s funeral Mass homily

After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –

This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

Emily Dickinson

The power of a remark

A Man may make a remark –
In itself – a quiet thing
That may furnish the fuse unto a spark
In dormant nature – lain

Let us divide – with skill
Let us discourse – with care
Powder exists in charcoal
Before it exists in fire

Emily Dickinson