Sunday, August 21, 2016

Poem


Personal Metaphysick

For Father John Large

Yea, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. (Luke 12:7)



God pays us close attention. Creates
Us right now. Divine improvisation,
Improv all he can do. Notice: This relaxes.
Strolling about now, slowly though,
Being old and all. Acknowledging that,
You think there may be ways of adjusting,
To getting back near where you were
Before heartache started dropping by.


Father Large is the pastor of my parish, St. Paul's. I have dedicated this poem to him because the first sentence of it derives from a sermon he gave recently. Father Large gives a brief sermon every day at morning Mass. The sermon I refer to was on the Gospel text that contains the line about every hair of our heads being numbered. Father Large pointed out that the obvious inference to be drawn from this is that God takes an intimate interest in us. I don't think I had ever thought of it that way before, and it couldn't get it out of my mind once I had.

Post bumped. 

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