Barb, poet priest

Invited to Attend

Invited to Attend
Pentecost 20; Matthew 22:1-14
I admit I was invited 
to attend that wedding banquet.
It would be a celebration
of life’s intimate commitment
and potential procreation.
Somehow that seemed uninviting:
I’d no time nor inclination
to join mass produced rejoicing.

I had one regret – the gardens.
There I knew I’d find abundance,
strolling down the tree-lined pathways
bright with buds and vivid blossoms,
breathing aromatic breezes,
pine and jasmine, mint and roses,
tasting peaches, grapes and berries
growing free for all to savour,
hearing bird song and the music 
of the streams and distant ocean.

Why did I say “No!” in answer?
I was busy and distracted,
but in truth I did regret it,
wondered what I might be missing.

Later I went out, uneasy,
walked the streets but going nowhere,
empty in my heart and belly.
When the servants bade us go there,
I was ready to do something,
joined the crowd to seek the banquet.
Wedding garments we were handed,
made to cover rags and street dirt.

In that robe I felt a stranger,
trapped, humiliated, silenced:
me, a guest they once respected,
treated like a homeless hobo.
Soon I started itching, twitching,
tore the garment off and left it,
stormed towards the open gateway.

When the gate clanged shut behind me,
I was left bereft and lonely,
hungry, missing that abundance
handed freely to all comers.
Suddenly my pride seemed foolish,
and my busy ways deluded.
How I wished that I had heeded 
that first summons, or indeed, had
humbly worn the wedding garment
like the vagrants they collected.

Shall I knock and seek forgiveness,
pick the garment up and wear it,
no more worthy than the lowly,
no less welcome now I know me?
	Barbara Messner 11/10/2023

Angelic Encounter
St. Michael and All Angels Day (written September 2020)
If you ask me if I’ve seen an angel,
I’m not sure what you’ll make of my answer:
I have seen a great wing in the heavens
with light gilding the arc of its feathers;
though I knew it was cloud, yet the message
was as clear to my heart as if spoken:
“In your grieving, fear not, God is with you.”

I’ve no doubt that to people beside me
not a hint of an angel was noted,
but I felt as though graced by the sacred:
as I flew to that tender departing,
the last day of Dad’s battle with cancer,
I was held by that vision of feathers,
lifting grief into meaning that changed me.

Then I knew that my father had entered
a new life co-existing with this one,
and the veil that had come down between us
was much thinner than I had imagined:
for a time, he seemed able to reach us,
share his love and the gift of his humour
so that laughing was mixed with our weeping.

What began with the wing of an angel
wakened some different knowing within me,
so I recognized something was calling,
and said, “Yes!” with no clear destination:
then my grieving set spurs to my searching,
as I longed for that sense of unveiling
of the kingdom of heaven so near me.

Now I think that an angel did visit,
setting me on this ministry journey,
and I write of the grace and the mystery
of the God who is present in suffering,
and in joy and in laughter and questions,
for I know there are messengers calling
if we’re brought to a thin place to listen.

Sonnet for St. Francis
Though Francis bore the marks of Jesus’ pain,
he walked the roads in simple joy and danced.
He cast aside the robes of merchant gain,
embracing poverty as life enhanced.
A fearsome wolf at his request grew tame –
for animal and town a happy end.
He preached to birds and even dared to claim
that sun and moon were kin, and death a friend.
The Spirit urged him to rebuild the church:
both stones and preaching seemed a burden slight,
with soul and body yoked in eager search,
his life a guiding fire, a beacon bright.
The centuries have not eclipsed the sight
of this man, naked, singing dawn alight.
	Barbara Messner 28/09/2021

In Reverse

In Reverse
Pentecost 17; Matthew 20:1-16
Common practice then and now
favours what is called success:
        being chosen, coming first;
        working harder, earning more;
        making sure we get what’s fair;
        sussing out what favours us.

God, it seems, works in reverse,
favours those our ways neglect:
	last is first and first is last;
	what is fair is judged by need;
	those rejected get their chance;
	all can claim a basic wage.

Turn our viewpoint upside down,
so we bring God’s kingdom near.
	Barbara Messner 21/09/2023

2 Poems

Prayer for Liberation
Pentecost 16; Exodus 14:19-31, Psalm 114
O God who leads
	slaves to freedom
and sweeps away
	pursuing forces
liberate those
	forced to labour
to their detriment
	for the profit of others
and those held down
	by discrimination.
Clog the wheels
	of abusive power
	and greedy money.

Liberating God
lead to freedom those
enslaved by addiction
	pulled down by abuse
exploited by scams.
Sweep away those
	who entrap others
through drugs and alcohol
	bullying and sexual harassment
	and social media snares.

Transforming God,
	turn the rock
of selfish hearts
	into pools of water
	where all may drink.
Change the flintstones
	of weaponized minds
into welling springs
	that nurture growth
	of diverse lives.

Barbara Messner 13/09/2023

Outback In Front
There comes a time when bare earth bakes,
and cracks appear in playing fields.
Then dusty winds compete with smog,
and outback stirs in our backyards.
No wilderness stays safely fenced:
how weak our claim on settled space!

The gardens that town water grows
are browning now with rationing;
the weeds and native plants stay green
while dead grass crackles underfoot.
The roads and concrete glare with heat
like desert sands without their soul.

Where prophets sought the wilderness,
and Spirit-driven, heard their call,
we now might drive on holidays,
between motels and tourist trails,
our bottled water in our hands,
and big Mac packets blowing by.

The silence and the loneliness
that once might stir prophetic word
are absent in our techno blah.
No Baptist shouts from river banks:
“Repent! This plunge will change your life!”
No Spirit cracks the heavens wide.

Or do we fail to hear or see
the lived or spoken word of God,
ignore the wisdom of the land,
too outback for our town-bred minds,
and scorn first peoples of the earth,
whose country we have turned to waste.

O God, awaken something wild
that stirs to hear the ancient songs,
discards white privilege and pride,
and humbled, turns to those who know.
Let outback and its peoples speak
to save the earth and guide the lost.

Barbara Messner September 2017
(for Wilderness/Outback Sunday, Season of Creation)

A Sheepish Nursery Rhyme

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

Click to access a-sea-shanty.pdf