Of Course He Would Go to Her First

Reluctantly, He had let her go,

“Just to get a few things” she had said.

He was anxious if she was out of his sight for even a moment,

His heart racing as the words constantly lingered

“Behold you Mother”.

But she had reassured him “Only an hour, perhaps less”.

Of course He would go to her first.

It was Sunday midday

And He had come to her as she knew He would.

She had knelt to roll up a small rug

And behind her she had heard His voice- “Mary”.

The voice of her Son who was more than her Son.

She turned, still on her knees, trembling,

Her eyes transfixed, their gaze brimming with love,

A pulsating current of soft white light connecting them.

They made no move toward each other

For the space between them did not exist and

In the silence they made no sound for none was needed.

There was no touch, yet He filled every pore

There was no time, yet He’d be gone in an instant,

There was only this moment, their love, and eternity.

When she returned to John- he knew.



At the appointed hour, all other time becomes

Not This.

I am in the sanctuary and it is the hour of Adoration.

All is dim shadow and stillness and quiet drapes around me like a monk’s cowl.

A slender beam illuminates the monstrance

And the Sacred Host- I swear it!-

Pulses with shimmers of light.

It is an oculus, an eye, a porthole,

A tiny tear in the fabric of the world

Allowing me to see for this moment beyond the illusion.

For it is the heart that sees; the eyes understand this.

A small white wafer confounding the senses

Showing that underneath reason burns a starker vision-

Of every word You ever spoke,

Of every night You spent cold, alone and in prayer.

Every fear, every joy.

Every drop of blood that poured from You.

Your eyes of love! Your groanings! Your thirst! Your nakedness!

And the oculus- a small sun of forgiveness and hope.