A poem for the Fourth Sunday of Lent

Bronze, St. James Cathedral, Seattle  by Ulrich Henn

The Price

To be born blind is to be born without:
to believe without icons
to worship without idols
to reflect without mirrors
to live without "living up to"
any image, especially your own.

I had no idea of darkness
until I saw the light.

Bathing in the pool of Siloam
I didn't have the sense
to search its clear bright waters
for a glimpse of my own face.

And so it was that his kind eyes
were the first to meet my own.
"So, this is what we look like,
And this is what it feels like to be seen.'
If only sight had stopped there.

For then I yearned to show my parents
but their eyes flinched and failed to hide
other faces -- judging , staring, bruising
fearing him, fearing me.

I had no idea of darkness
until I saw the light.

-Elizabeth Michael Boyle, O.P.

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1 comment:

  1. Retry - I posted yesterday.
    This really is a beautiful poem. Thank you and more please !


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and PRAY before you think!