Breakfast on Shifting Sand

Today my long service leave ended and I am officially retired. I have been feeling rather raw all week, wanting to pull the blankets over my head, or some such equivalent of going fishing! As I woke up today this poem started to come to me.

Breakfast on Shifting Sand
Easter 3: John 21:1-19
Like Peter – raw – I cover too
before I leap and swim to you.
Whatever stripped me in the night
would surely draw your probing sight,
and after breakfast on the shore
your questions search me to the core.

Though I’ve denied, my love is strong –
Give me your trust, let me belong.
I felt so weak I had to weep,
yet I was called to feed your sheep,
and for your sake I sought the source,
and tended flocks and stayed the course.

I know that when I heed your voice
I draw in more than at my choice.
As I grow old, what comes to me?
I fear the time I won’t be free
to do what I might long to do,
but still in love I’ll follow you.
	Barbara Messner 1/05/2022

Saul on the Road to Damascus

Saul on the Road to Damascus
Easter 3; Acts 9:1-20
There vision failed him and his old self died.
“Why do you persecute me, Saul?” Christ said.
His zeal, thrown in the dust, will rise again,
devoted to the work of Christ instead.
Simply awesome, isn’t it:
when one so sure of being right
sees mystery increased?
Here’s new life strange as any myth
where gold, we’re told, is spun from straw,
and love transforms the beast.
 
The risen Christ has overturned Paul’s world
as though the earth had shifted in its place.
His prior learning came to seem a shape
reflected dimly, now seen face to face.
Simply awesome, isn’t it:
as though magnetic north has flipped
and compasses turned round?
Here’s new life strange as under sea
with creatures dancing in the deep
to whale song so profound.              
 
Free now to be Christ’s fool, he changed his name
from Saul to Paul, and re-assessed his pride
to boast of weakness partnered with Christ’s strength.
Now faith not law will see him justified.
Simply awesome, isn’t it:
how dry dead seed that’s lost in earth
can spring up to the skies?
Here’s new life strange as prophecy,
for male or female, slave or free
are equal in Christ’s eyes.

Paul spoke to one and all of life transformed:
how sight was lost in light and then restored.
His tunnel vision opened to the one
he once despised, who now became his Lord.
Simply awesome, isn’t it:
that Christ should love this enemy 
and call him to new birth?
Here’s new life hard as labour pains,
as all creation groans to bring
new heaven and new earth.
     Barbara Messner c. 2014 revised 2019, 2022

Encountering the Risen Christ

Encountering the Risen Christ
Easter 2; John 20:11-31
Mary’s tears fell in the garden.
Someone said, “Whom are you seeking?”
Mary thought he was the gardener:
deeper truth in that was speaking.
When he called her name, she knew him,
rose, commissioned at his bidding
as apostle to apostles,
though her culture was forbidding.

Jesus came to those in hiding,
breathed on them the new creation,
gift of peace and Holy Spirit,
sent them out in fresh elation.
Absent Thomas, locked in grieving,
spurned their joy and their insisting.
Jesus showed his wounds, said: “Touch them!”
Thomas cried - no more resisting!

So when I am locked in darkness,
cannot recognize you, risen,
come to me and name and call me,
set me free from self-made prison.
Show your wounds and bid me touch them,
so I share the pain of caring.
Breathe in me new life and spirit,
peace that gives me strength for daring.
	Barbara Messner 19/04/2022

Holy Week on Holiday

Holy Week on Holiday

Here in this quiet space, the sea sounds ease:
its restless growl now soothes like curled cat’s purr.
The surges striking rocks here calm and please
with soft repeated strokes like smoothing fur;
yet walking on the shore in wind like knives
I felt the power in every foaming curl.
Spray bursts and falls; the sculpted rock survives
until it’s undermined by water’s swirl.
This Holy Week, my part is set aside –
no marathon of services to face.
No words of mine need show the mounting tide
of force abusing sacrificial grace.
Yet cross and empty tomb will have their say;
their muted message still shifts stones away.
	Barbara Messner 14/04/2022

Good Friday Sonnet

Good Friday Sonnet

Suspended on the cross, he lived the death
that looms before us all upon a hill.
We all must face the halting of our breath,
the mortal muscles of our heart will still.
Is this the prospect cringing in our breast
that makes us all complicit in the kill,
resenting limits keeping life compressed,
while God is bounded only by God’s will?
We mortals want to bring the boundless down
to meet us in the tragedy we share,
not seeing that that bird’s already flown –
God chose to die to meet us where we are.
Forgiving of our human spite, Christ died
with open arms to keep the heavens wide.
Barbara Messner Easter 2018

Palm Sunday 2022

Palm Sunday 2022
Luke 19:28-44
Fickle as then this lusting crowd,
equally hot for crown or cross,
keen to humiliate the proud,
or idolize the gilded dross.
Silent you ride as shouts grow loud,
chanting acclaim while you face loss.

Yet without words the stones cry out,
and without hands the branches wave.
Deaf to such witness, walled in doubt,
we leave you lonely in the grave.
Though you lament, we go without
things that make peace and hopes that save.

Time to call out in glad surprise:
“God’s visitation comes our way!”
Pray for fresh eyes that won’t despise, 
cleansed of display and techno play.
World weary souls might recognize
life can arise from tombs of clay.
	Barbara Messner 4/04/2022

The Sacrament of Anointing Jesus

The Sacrament of Anointing Jesus
Lent 5; John 12: 1-8
In every gospel such a one appears:
a woman who anoints his feet or head,
prophetic, or contrite with heartfelt tears,
or grateful for one risen from the dead.
So intimate, extravagant and brave,
expressing love in that embodied way:
compassion that prepared him for the grave,
with touch more eloquent than words can say!
When Mary poured the nard upon his feet,
and knelt to wipe them gently with her hair,
the perfume of that sacrament stays sweet.
In gospel women, we find strength to bear
those times and places where we are not free
to take due place in life and ministry.
	Barbara Messner 30/03/2022

The Prodigal Son and the Petty One

The Prodigal Son and the Petty One
Lent 4; Luke 15:11-32
Jesus still speaks to our time and our weakness:
some of us spending what might have sustained us,
others resenting remaining in meekness,
stuck in the limits of work that restrained us.

Some of us leave seeking fields that seem greener,
following whims and indulging our senses.
Some of us stay, growing thwarted and meaner,
tending our anger and spiking the fences.

Some then return from an alien nation,
where in pursuit of our passions we wandered.
Others take pride in determined privation,
mocking the ones who have floundered and squandered.

Father, you wait for us all open hearted:
those who turn back, hungry, humbled, repenting,
those who in bitterness blame the departed,
righteous, refusing rejoicing, and venting.

Those lost and strayed you will welcome to living.
Those in whom faithfulness soured in persisting
you will affirm, and encourage in giving,
showing life loved is much more than existing.
	Barbara Messner 23/03/2022 

Remedial Gardeners Needed

Remedial Gardeners Needed
Lent 3; Luke 13:1-9
The axe may still not fall
if gardeners speak out,
and work to keep the trees,
for Earth desires to bear.

Those overwhelmed by flood
or robbed of all by fire
are not the ones who’ve sinned.
Priorities must change.

Grandkids will bear the brunt
of devastation wrought
by governments who fail
to heed the need to act.

I wonder if the tree
of our society
can blossom yet and fruit,
if tended soulfully.

For Spirit drives the flames
or stormy winds of change.
We thirst for deeper springs
than shallow roots can find.

Sometimes when floods recede
the wildflowers shoot and flower.
Axe hewn or half burnt stumps
send out strong roots and leaves.

For resurrected life
stands waiting in the wings
for stones to roll away,
and vision to emerge.
	Barbara Messner 16/03/2022

On Retiring as Associate Priest in an Anglican parish

On Retiring as Associate Priest in an Anglican Parish
Time now to fold and put away
(well within reach on a central shelf)
words I’ve been privileged to say,
robes that both stirred and covered self.

Tears fall in soft autumnal grief;
letting them flow releases me.
Tightness unwinds and brings relief;
eyes look around and start to see.

There on those shelves are garments tossed,
jumbled aside in a pressured hour,
colours once loved and crafts I’ve lost:
some I discard while some might flower.

Clasped in that role, I shrank and grew;
cramped and controlled, but yet revealed.
I moved beyond the me I knew,
though there are parts of me unhealed.

Now though I keenly feel the loss,
something with wings is freed outside.
Stone rolled aside, but still the cross
questions humanity denied.

Christ is still striding on ahead;
I face a road half-known and strange.
Other hands raise the wine and bread;
time to receive, let spirit range.
	Barbara Messner 9/03/2022