Who is Mary?
Advent 4 Luke 1:26-38
Not blue and white, immaculate and fair?
The Mary I imagine and admire
is dark, with untamed eyes that probe and flare:
a woman fit to mate with Spirit fire.
The label “Virgin” now precedes her name,
as though to guarantee unworldly worth,
yet earthy common sense has made her game
to challenge as unlikely virgin birth.
No awe of angels holds her question back;
no meekness keeps her from an honest doubt.
If she agrees, she knows she’ll face attack,
and words that shame, or stones may drive her out.
So understand how brave is her reply:
“I’ll serve as you have said. Yes! Here am I!”
Barbara Messner 15/12/2020
Nativity
To Mary bearing down on love,
pain comes through saying: “Here am I.”
Bring down to earth the God above?
Plain sense and comfort question why.
Birth pangs are hers, but also his,
pushed out into a world like this,
where God with us must learn to cry.
Yet that first cry we hear as gift
more precious than the gold of kings,
and his last cry can bridge the rift
more surely than all angels’ wings,
for he is us, our pain is his,
and joy finds voice in cries like this.
“We are new born!” our being sings.
Barbara Messner December 2019
Who are you? What do you say about yourself?
Who are you? What do you say about yourself?
for Advent 3, John 1:6-8, 19-28
I’m not the Messiah, although sometimes
I wish I could save the church I love –
the world as a whole is out of my league.
I’m not a prophet, although sometimes
the words I write seem given to share,
and so I rejoice to see them received.
I’m not the Baptist, although sometimes
I baptize a child. Few adults seek
that rite with me: I’m not the Messiah.
So what do I say about myself?
I know I’m a priest, a woman and priest,
although some still say I may not be both.
I’m a poet at heart although in this age
I know that’s a role not worthy of note
in the halls of fame or the heights of power.
My voice must seem small in the wilderness,
where the valleys are deep and the rough is not smooth;
yet I cry, “Oh, make straight the way of the Lord!”
Like John, I am called to witness to light
and so I write words that might touch a few.
A few is enough: I’m not the Messiah.
Barbara Messner 9 December 2020
Advent Song
Waiting, not knowing
(Lyrics of Advent song)
Waiting, not knowing: Lord, here we are again!
Waiting, not knowing, can send this world insane.
Give me the wisdom to trust and not complain.
Some say that waiting on you is greatest gain.
Open that space of emptiness
in which I wait on you.
Freed of anxiety and stress,
I let my thoughts be few.
There I find calm and spaciousness:
I’m neither big nor small.
There I can sense your graciousness:
I let defences fall.
Waiting, not knowing: why do I need to know?
Waiting, not knowing, the spirit wind might blow.
Give me awareness to pause my to and fro,
sensing the moment as deep and broad and slow.
Here I find room to be myself,
try other ways to know:
blessed now by being on the shelf,
where I have time to grow.
Here I receive the spirit spark:
words glowing on the page.
Though I am groping in the dark,
I find the gift of age.
Waiting, not knowing, makes peace with destiny;
waiting, not knowing, I hear both you and me.
Give me the courage to wait to know and see,
let go control now and practise to be free.
Barbara Messner 3 December 2020
https://barbpoetpriest.blog/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/waiting-not-knowing-1.pdf
The Return
The Return
Advent 2, Isaiah 40:1-11, Mark 1:1-8
Laments for exile flowed in psalm and tears,
but Babylon was home in passing years.
Prophetic vision urged them to go back,
but more than valleys faced them on that track.
The Baptist called the people to repent,
prepare the way for one whom God had sent.
So Christ as Suffering Servant walked his path:
a cross upon a hill was aftermath.
Now we are exiles who don’t even weep
for spirit that we’ve lost and ways too deep.
We’re urged to strive towards achievement’s peak,
but where’s the meaning worth our while to seek?
The way of Christ is lonely, rough and steep,
but word of vision stirs our half-drugged sleep.
Barbara Messner 2 December 2020
Precarious Advent
Precarious Advent Advent 1 2023; Mark 13:24-37, Isaiah 64:1-9 I hide my imagining eyes from apocalyptic visions – stars falling, heavens darkened; although my rational mind admits humanity courts self-destruction generation after generation. There is some comfort in the promise that the Cosmic Christ is, has been, will be there in the most desperate times, and his words will not pass away, though heaven and earth are transient. Yet in this precarious Advent, daunted by end time scenarios, do I really want to stay awake, or rather in mists of unknowing, beyond smoke screens of wilful unseeing, to dream I feel the hands of the potter moulding the clay of our being, finding the form and the colours that will emerge transformed by fire? Barbara Messner 28/11/2023
A Sonnet for Christ the King
A Sonnet for Christ the King
When Pilate asked him if he was a king,
“You say so,” were the only words he said.
He would not answer back to anything,
though mocked with crown of thorns upon his head.
So if you call him king, then be aware
that in his kingdom might is seldom right:
ex-presidential spite would shrivel there,
and media moguls lose their power to blight.
The one who comes in glory can be seen
in those laid low by hunger, illness, thirst,
imprisoned, naked, branded as unclean –
all those regarded as the least and worst.
We meet him in the stranger at our door;
his kingdom comes in service to the poor.
Barbara Messner 18 November 2020
Entrusted to Make the Best of What We’re Given
Entrusted to Make the Best of What We’re Given Pentecost 25; Matthew 25:14-30 There are talents we’ve been given here at hand – ingenuity, resources, power enough – to turn back the ticking clocks of climate change, and restore the fraught ecology of earth. Still we bury that potential out of fear of the consequences even if we’re right. What does head in sand style leadership avoid – loss of present profit, influence and pride? There are harsher repercussions that await any failure to accept a timely role in the restoration that might save the world. For what profit is a short-term bonus now if our children’s children can’t escape the doom of the outer darkness, wails and gnashing teeth? Yes, to those who venture nothing, all is lost, while abundance flows to those who risk their more. Barbara Messner 10 November 2020
Wise or Foolish
Wise or Foolish Pentecost 24; Matthew 25:1-13 Ten bridesmaids await the groom. Those with lanterns still alight follow to the feasting room; five have gone off out of sight. Those with spare oil would not share, fearing none would have enough – wise perhaps, but lacking care? Foolish ones must do it tough. Though they seek a dealer out to replenish their supplies, still they’re left to do without, doors are shut, a cruel surprise. Just a cautionary tale – followers of Christ must wait, letting no commitment fail – yet it stirs in me a state of resistance, talking back: “What is foolish? What is wise? Surely they supplied their lack? Who would then deny their cries? Is this unforgiving Lord one that I can’t recognize? Are we meant to guard our hoard, not to share with those unwise? I who frequently forget, am I one without spare oil? What if lamps go out, and yet failure’s overcome with toil? Seems to me the loving Lord would not shut the foolish out, nor deny them with a word, but would welcome those without. Still it’s true we have to wait, and our light can start to dim. When I’m in that burnt out state, best to stay and wait for him. To me, Jesus never said: “You have failed to bring supplies!” Giving me the wine and bread fills the lack in what is wise. Had they stayed till he was there, said, “Forgive our loss of light,” those deemed wise might learn to share and the foolish turn out bright. Barbara Messner 4 November 2020
How to Emulate the Saints
How to Emulate the Saints I know of saints who braved the harshest dooms – such courage I cannot aspire to seek. For me, each dental visit darkly looms, and medical appointments spoil my week. St. Anthony of Padua talked with fish and Francis understood the wolf and birds – these saints can stir in me an eager wish to reach beyond the scope of human words to listen to the creatures, learn their ways. Respectful and aware, I might discern what notes birds sing that fill the air with praise, and with companion animals, I’d learn to read their needs, and joyfully to share the generous self-giving of true care. Barbara Messner 28 October 2020
Love and the Referendum
Love and the Referendum Pentecost 22; Matthew 22:34-46, Deuteronomy 34:1-12 “Love God. Love neighbour.” Jesus said that these are life’s great laws. Did those who voted “No” that day let love give cause to pause? If we refuse to listen, can First Nations know we care? Both lovers urged us to say “Yes”, but fear was louder there. “Voice. Treaty. Truth.” the elders wrote. Expediency said “No”. Then racist voices grew in strength, and let their hatred show. And so this shameful history goes on beyond that day. Now have we glimpsed the Promised Land, but perished on the way? Barbara Messner 26/10/2023
Barb, poet priest 