A Sheepish Nursery Rhyme Pentecost 15; Matthew 18:10-20 (John 10:7-16) If he’s a good shepherd, am I a good sheep? I like to feel safe when it’s time to sleep. He’s shepherd and gate, for he gives us the choice: “Come in or go out, but still hear my voice.” One time at high noon on a warm sunny day, my legs became restless to slip away: I wandered in search of the greenest of hills. and slippery slopes to roll down for a thrill. Alas! I was caught in that old briar patch where thorns and my tangles conspired to snatch. I called and he heard and reached out for me, and though the thorns pierced him, he set me free. He tended the places where I had been hurt, and pulled out the prickles and cleaned up the dirt, and carried me back to the safe sleeping ground, and told all the others: “The missing one’s found!” He’s shepherd and gate: we come in and go out. I think I might stay within reach of his shout. It’s all very well to be free as a bird. but I am his sheep, and I’m glad he heard. Baa-baa-ra Messner May 2020 (A bit of fun from the past while I concentrate on performance preparation.)
Get Behind Me, Satan!
Get Behind Me Satan
Pentecost 14; Matthew 16:21-28
“Get behind me Satan!”
he said to one he valued
as rock to build a church on:
worth noting just how quickly
key insights get distorted
by our survival instinct
and lustful need for power
to do away with suffering
and concentrate on winning.
“Oh! Get behind me Satan!”
he said to something in him:
a desperate human longing
to say pain must not happen,
to ask that God forbid it.
He fears that he might stumble
upon the block of safety:
be tempted to act godlike
instead of truly godly,
escape the mortal price tag
of death outside the city.
Cry: “Get behind me Satan!”
Alone upon the mountains
and in the midnight garden
he prayed for dispensation:
“Please let this cup pass from me!
Let’s do without communion
with blood and broken body.
Impervious and immortal,
I’ll lead a better empire
without the need for dying.”
“No, get behind me Satan!”
To be secure and powerful
are common human failings,
a self-defeating cycle
with endless streams of victims.
It’s human to be praying:
“Dear God, don’t let this happen
to us or those we treasure.
We can’t succumb to covid,
or mental loss in ageing,
or be displaced and homeless,
and as for facing dying,
we hope we barely notice
between a sleep and waking.”
But get behind me Satan,
for loving and creating
are forged through death and rising,
and God would rather suffer,
and share in being mortal,
than be untouched and distant,
unmoved, beyond our crying.
Take up your cross and follow
from tomb to resurrection.
Accepting loss means finding
what seems to be a failure
can bring God’s kingdom nearer.
Barbara Messner 27 August 2020
(I'm posting this one from the past because I'm pushed for time working on a concert of my poems and songs, an event at which I hope to sell my poetry book. If anyone is close enough to come, it's on Sunday 17 September at 2 pm in the Anne Jolly Hall at the Church of the Epiphany, Epiphany Place, Crafers SA, admission $10, books $15.)
The Messianic Secret
This poem is on my home page, because it speaks of the climate in which I write, and the questions I explore through writing: “Who are you? and “Who am I?”
The Messianic Secret Pentecost 13; Matthew 16:13-20 “Now who do people say I am?” What if he asked that in this space? I might reply with darkened face: “There’s many here don’t give a damn. Your name’s mis-used by those who swear. Some might remember half a rhyme of carols sung at Christmas time, or cross stripped bare in neon glare.” But if he asked me what I say, I might reply: “You are the heart and breath of loving and of art, the source of justice and of play, the guide to what I’m meant to be, the mid-wife of my death and birth, the one whose coming transforms earth, the cosmic wisdom plain to see. So “Who are you?” and “Who am I?” are secrets hidden in the light. The search for meaning gives us sight, the gift of a discerning eye, and those who wonder, and are drawn to life abundant and to love, can hear the call of spirit dove and in the dark embrace the dawn. Barbara Messner 20 August 2020
A Daughter Tormented by a Demon
A Daughter Tormented by a Demon Pentecost 12; Matthew 15:21-28 The Canaanite mother kept shouting: “Mercy for my daughter!” The disciples came and urged Jesus: “Send her away!” Longing for peace, he did not answer her, then was dismissive. Undaunted in faith, she answered back. Healing happened. The demons who torment our daughters and sons are trolls on social media, bullies and abusers in schools and on phones, peer groups sodden with drugs, sex and booze, a jaded society entertained by violence, media driven hype idolizing winners and berating losers, parents too busy to notice or shout out. No doubt there are women seeking Jesus, begging for mercy. Does he stay silent, discourage them with ethnic or gender disparity? Is salvation exclusive, reserved for those at the altar? Are healing powers weakened when so few believe? Let the women and the dogs who love the children, demand help loudly, challenging rejection, claiming crumbs from his table and the touch of healing, breaking into his breakdown to give and take wholeness. Barbara Messner 16/08/2023
A Sea Shanty
A Sea Shanty
Pentecost 11; Matthew 14:22-36
Now each wave surges high
and the wind rages by
and the boat feels as frail as a twig!
Skill and courage unwind
as the shore slips behind
and the storm clouds loom up wild and big.
So now where is the one
who can brighten the sun
and inspire us to find strength within?
He took time out to pray
and sent us on our way,
and our day has turned darker than sin.
Will he walk on the waves
to save us from our graves -
surely we are worth more than mere prayer?
Or perhaps he might say
that if we thought to pray
then his presence would steady us there.
We’d get out of the boat,
let our feet learn to float,
and we’d walk as though cushioned on air.
Look to him and all’s well,
but our fear of the swell
sets us wallowing deep in despair.
He gives strength to our arm,
and awareness of calm,
then we find ourselves safe on the deck,
with the sails set to soar,
‘til we’re safely ashore
having weathered another near wreck.
Barbara Messner August 2020
A Blessing and a Wounding
A Blessing and a Wounding
Pentecost 10; Genesis 32:22-31
At times we come to crossings
as Jacob did at Jabbok.
Our people and possessions
go on across the waters –
incentive and appeasement
to clear a path to follow.
Yet we remain, in turmoil,
as day gives way to nightfall.
Do past transgressions hold us,
or future risks unnerve us,
or have we lost the meaning
of who we are or might be?
There in the dark we wrestle
with self or something other,
no victory to either.
We’re out of joint and hurting,
but still despite the begging
“Let go, for day is breaking”,
we cling on for a blessing.
And so as light is dawning,
we claim another naming,
and say that we have striven
with God, and were prevailing,
and yet the one who held us
in struggle or embracing
has slipped away still nameless –
our claiming is our failing.
Barbara Messner July 2020
So They Kept the Matter to Themselves
So They Kept the Matter to Themselves Transfiguration; Mark 9:2-10 I have been on those heights everything radiant pregnant with presence clouds trailing glory while near me I heard words of listening and love Dreamed I worshipped you there poised at the crux of prophecy law or future and past all around I perceived our reality stretch Peak experience fades when we’re descending vision or dreaming awkward to tell when below in the valley our failure awaits But I know you are there braced for betrayal violence denial face set like flint you walk with us still to the cross and beyond Barbara Messner 2/08/2023
Shake Off the Dust
This was written in 2021 for Mark 6:1-6. Feeling a bit overwhelmed this week, I’m repeating it for the identical passage, Matthew 13:54-58, at the end of Sunday’s gospel.
Shake off the Dust Pentecost 9; Matthew 13:54-58 Year A (also Pentecost 6, Mark 6:1-13, Year B) The locals doubted Jesus could be wise: he grew to manhood right before their eyes, a carpenter whose kin they thought they knew. His gift was hampered, though he healed a few. Belief, it seems, enables Spirit power, and sceptics flourish in this day and hour, pursuing facts and leaving wisdom out. The chance to heal is undermined by doubt. So those of us who teach the ways of soul in hopes the world might turn and be made whole are stripped of what sustains us on the road, while lack of welcome multiplies our load. We see so many signs of lack of trust, it’s hard to leave behind the clogging dust. Barbara Messner 30/06/2021
Encompass Us
Encompass Us Pentecost 8; Psalm 139, Matthew 13: 24-43 Search me, O God, and know my heart, my words and path discern. Though I might try to hide apart, you find me when I turn. Confronting to be searched and known, but comforting as well. A knowing love transforms its own; unknown is lonely hell. The inner and the outer world are patched with dark and light. You know where growth lies dormant, furled – let warmth bring it to sight. Let weeds and wheat grow side by side, for only You can tell if wheat has spread its claim too wide, or weeds might make us well. Mile after mile of same old wheat might serve our same old selves, but what of land that we deplete for supermarket shelves? A weed is just a random plant not planned in our designs; its earning power for us is scant, but Earth knows what it mines. Is what we sow in soil or soul the best for us or Earth? Creator God can grow us whole, for Wisdom knows what’s worth. Barbara Messner 20/07/23
On Behalf of Random Seed
On Behalf of Random Seed Pentecost 7; Matthew 13:1-9. 18-23 Did Jesus limit how one hears, although he spoke to those with ears? Perhaps his followers explained, and parables became constrained. I guess I must appreciate that Jesus would communicate with literal-minded sons of law as well as friends of metaphor. Although perhaps it seems perverse, don’t ask me to explain a verse, but let us share what it might mean, for truth has facets seldom seen. A poem scatters less than seed, and still there’s rocky ground and weed, but soil prepared and fertilized may yield so much that I’m surprized. The parables say many things if given space to spread their wings. When seed attracts a hungry bird, it might be carried, like the word. Who knows where wisdom someone drops may root and spring up, then bear crops? The fruit seed thrown beside the track might feed a wanderer come back. Barbara Messner 8/07/2023
Barb, poet priest 