ITS JEALOUSY UNYIELDING AS THE GRAVE

On Christ as Female and Christ as Mother

"la venida de cristo" (the cumming of christ)

paintings by fabián chairez (mexico, born 1987) also available as a postcard set

Our Lady of Sorrows.

Limbo by Sister Mary Ada

The ancient greyness shifted

Suddenly and thinned

Like mist upon the moors

Before a wind.

An old, old prophet lifted

A shining face and said :

“He will be coming soon.

The Son of God is dead;

He died this afternoon.”

A murmurous excitement stirred all souls.

They wondered if they dreamed —

Save one old man who seemed

Not even to have heard.

And Moses standing,

Hushed them all to ask

If any had a welcome song prepared.

If not, would David take the task?

And if they cared

Could not the three young children sing

The Benedicite, the canticle of praise

They made when God kept them from perishing

In the fiery blaze?

A breath of spring surprised them,

Stilling Moses’ words.

No one could speak, remembering

The first fresh flowers,

The little singing birds.

Still others thought of fields new ploughed

Or apple trees 

All blossom – boughed.

Or some, the way a dried bed fills

With water

Laughing down green hills.  

The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam

On bright blue seas.

The one old man who had not stirred

Remembered home.

And there He was

Splendid as the morning sun and fair

As only God is fair.

And they, confused with joy,

Knelt to adore

Seeing that He wore

Five crimson stars

He never had before.

No canticle at all was sung.

None toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song.

A silent man alone

Of all that throng

Found tongue —-

Not any other.

Close to His heart

When the embrace was done,

Old Joseph said,

“How is Your Mother,