Barb, poet priest

Welcome and Welcoming

Welcome and welcoming
Matthew 10:40-42

Best welcome gives us space and lets us be.
“Whoever welcomes you so welcomes me,”
said Jesus. From experience he knew
that welcomers of Christians might be few.

So many now mis-read him, mistrust us –
not helped by slogan verses on a bus!
The checkout operators often say
with bright and practised interest: “How’s your day?”

“I wrote a sermon, and I offered prayer
for someone who was dying in Aged Care.”
It’s odd, but conversation after that
grows awkward and soon falls completely flat.

Mind you, to welcome prophets give us pause:
we know that what they say has fire and claws,
and profit motive claims a greater power
than all the warnings of a world gone sour.

And no-one gladly welcomes righteous ones –
too often the self-righteous carry guns.
We welcome strangers hoping to fill space
on lists of those who might maintain our place.

So welcoming and welcome need some work,
and feeling right at home is not a perk
that Jesus offered freely to his band
to keep them well contented and at hand.

Perhaps our welcoming might turn at first
to “little ones” who live with fear and thirst.
Perhaps we’d find ourselves most welcome there
with cups of water shared in mutual care.
	Barbara Messner 25 June 2020

More Value Than Many Sparrows?

More Value than Many Sparrows?
Pentecost 4; Matthew 10:29-31

But why would God count humans of more value
than one expiring two a penny sparrow?
It’s we who price resources of our earth
convinced that human profit has more worth
than all the fragile beauties freely given
and meant to draw us deeper into heaven
where we are more aware, respectful, kind,
and leave our greedy ego selves behind.
Because our self-importance tends to soar,
did Jesus mock our constant need for more,
and question whether value has degree
when God finds precious both the bird and me,
and counts our hairs or feathers just the same,
cares when we fall and calls us both by name.
	Barbara Messner 18 June 2020

Why Did Sarah Laugh?

Why Did Sarah Laugh?
Pentecost 3; Genesis 18:1-15
Why did Sarah laugh,
listening in the tent,
not out with the guests,
though she’d made them cakes,
quickly, as he said?

“She will have a son!”
Abraham was told,
standing by the three,
offering the food
others had prepared.

Menopause had passed –
childless she remained;
Ishmael, Hagar’s child:
Abraham’s first son.
Promises were late!

Why be offered birth
past her use-by date?
Sarah had to laugh,
then deny, for fear
men might think she mocked.

Trust four men to plan
she should have a son!
No-one thought to ask!
Laugh for all the times
she felt set aside.

Her old body faced
risk and stress and pain,
then the constant work
babies tend to claim.
God, she had to laugh!

Faith of patriarch
Scripture has acclaimed.
Sarah’s rueful laugh
sums up years of tears
waiting women shed.
	Barbara Messner 15/06/2023

Winter Clouds

Winter Clouds
When skies are uniformly grey
and drizzle dampens every walk,
my soul shrinks down, half-turned away,
lets inner colour smudge like chalk.

If clouds and sun dance on the heights,
then grey takes form in subtle hues,
and white has brightness that delights,
while gaps of sky show bluest blue.

Then cast-down eyes are drawn to lift.
Majestic mountain peaks of cloud
appear, and then like magic shift
as sunlight rips the dimming shroud.

I gaze and words begin to form
as brightness splashes like a wave.
Though cloud parade might turn to storm,
each lightning flash excites the brave.

I’d rather downpour than those fogs
that hem me round and dull my sight.
Let flooding shift the clogging logs
so stream runs strong and glitters bright.
	Barbara Messner 9/06/23

Say “Follow Me!”

Say Follow Me
Pentecost 2; Matthew 9:9-13
Say “Follow me!” It’s what some try to do,
though few will leave position, power and wealth
as Matthew did, inspired to follow you.
Perhaps his soul was drawn to greater health.
His healing meant he recognized your truth,
reclaimed ideals he’d left upon a shelf,
integrity abandoned in his youth,
respect for others and his better self.
His other name was Levi, ancient clan
of priesthood. As disciple, did he find
that heritage made new? Though once he ran
to lures of Empire, hope remade his mind.
Say “Follow Me!” This world of compromise
may yet turn to your healing, leave the lies.
	Barbara Messner 7/06/2023

This poem was written in 2021 for Mark’s version of the story we have this Sunday in Matthew 9. I am repeating it partly to celebrate that the Anglican Diocese of the Murray where I live has finally decided to accept the ordination of women.

The Healing of Women
Pentecost 2; Matthew 9:18-26 (also Pentecost 5 Year B; Mark 5:21-43)
When Jesus heals, he seeks to make us whole:
he healed the flow of blood the woman bore
for twelve long years, but also healed her soul.
Her shame was lifted, she need hide no more.
Did Jesus feel his power go out to all
those women judged unclean who hide in fear
and dare not state their need or voice their call,
yet let their faith in healing draw them near?
The leader’s daughter, twelve years old, had died
while Jesus listened to that woman’s truth.
Despite the scorn of those who wailed and cried,
he raised the girl to walk into her youth,
and there perhaps to find there’s more to life
than bartered, without choice, as someone’s wife.
	Barbara Messner 15/06/2021

Trinity and Me

This poem of mine from 2020 was first published on Maren Tirabassi’s blog giftsinopenhands. Thanks as always to Maren for her encouragement, and her inspiring work.

Trinity and me
Trinity Sunday
God, the Parent Creator, and I
were delighted together one day.
On our deck was a strutting magpie,
boldly stepping as though on display.
Briefly noting we watched behind glass,
it continued to search for its prey,
and then, proud of its black and white class,
rushed towards us to tap on the wall.
Though its beak was still empty, it flew,
and alighted with chest out to call;
like an Indian brave counting coup,
it had boldness to boast of to all.
God and I laughed our praise at the sight
as the bird sang the song of its might.

God the Son met me once on a beach,
as my tears to salt water returned,
when God with us had seemed out of reach,
and my guts with stale anger had burned.
In my mind’s eye, I saw an old cup,
cracked and thrown down as I seemed to be,
and I felt that he picked us both up,
and he washed out the dregs in the sea,
threw the spray into rainbows that flew.
Then transformed in his hands was a bowl,
glazed with pearl and as whole as if new,
and he offered fresh water to all.

God the Spirit has blown in again:
after absence, keeps chanting my name.
Though my weariness tries to refrain,
there are words in my head tipped with flame,
and they’ll haunt me and taunt me until
I sit down with a pencil and write.
I resist, having now had my fill,
but they lurk in my mind out of sight.
I can’t settle to work more mundane
when these words are still waiting to share,
so I write, knowing how I complain
when the Spirit seems gone, and I’m bare.
	Barbara Messner June 2020

Variations on Pentecost

Variations on Pentecost
Day of Pentecost; John 20:19-23, Acts 2:1-21
To some the Spirit comes as breath to breath
that wakens us to risen life in Christ.
We know him and rejoice, receive his peace.
Assured that we are sent as he was sent,
we venture forth, commissioned to forgive.

Our Pentecost may be a bolder scene:
the Spirit like a wind that fills our space,
or tongues like flame that flare within our heads.
This sending out is full of drama too,
as different ethnic groups can hear the Word
in languages they know (Babel reversed),
and someone who denied finds he can preach.

Contrasting tales do not negate the truth,
but prism-like draw rainbows out of light.
The Spirit that can animate the words
and send us forth empowered to speak or hear
is known in ways diverse as rainbow hues,
communicates beyond all cultures’ bounds,
and Spirit gifts can lead beyond what’s said.

Let those who feel the stir of Spirit breath
be moved like branches dancing in the wind.
Let sparks ignite their dreaming and their song,
though words fall short of what was felt in awe,
and metaphors, though many, only trace
vague shapes suggesting some transforming power.

I have experienced Spirit like a flame,
a radiant energy of warmth and light.
Sometimes a violent wind will shape my growth,
or breath will stir me, intimate as kiss.
There’s peace and joy but also risk and fear
in daring to believe that we are sent
with words from hidden depths that touch the deep
beyond what we can try to know or say.

We wait and pray; sometimes our doors are locked,
but still he comes among us with his wounds,
and breathes upon us with the breath of life;
no safety in his promise, but there’s peace.
The Spirit comes as advocate and guide
so we are never orphaned or alone.
	Barbara Messner 22/05/2023

Ascension?

Ascension?
Ascension Day; Acts 1:1-11; Matthew 28: 16-20
He vanished from their sight, but did he rise
to lofty palaces above the skies
to sit in gloried state at God’s right hand?
Or did he slip among them where they stand?
The angels laughed: “Why do you seek afar
the one who’s always with you where you are?”
To visions bringing insight, it seems odd
when we in worship set apart our God,
who comes among us as a baby curled
within the welcome womb of every world,
and lives and dies and rises, seen or not,
in all the grime and muddle of our lot;
yet we persist in seeing Christ ascend,
although he said he’s with us to the end.
           Barbara Messner 20 May 2020