Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Third Sunday after Epiphany - C2

Years C
Psalm 19

King speaks to King - Arthur with David

"Morte D'Arthur"
from Poems, 4th edition (London: Moxon, 1845)
Alfred Tennyson, 1809-1892

And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge:
"The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils Himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within Himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou se√ęst--if indeed I go--
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)
To the island-valley of Avilion;
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound."

Avilion tells of the glory of G*D, as well as does creation. Where wounds are healed voiceless stars sing and a sun freed from domesticity runs wild across the sky.

Let the words of our mouths, our prayers for one another's souls, find an acceptability and purity of our best intentions.

= = = = = = =

it takes several times around the block
no only going around once for me
to begin to glimpse glory
behind usual days marching on
all at once for no reason at all
what once was a silent loneliness
rattles the windows of our rooms
with every timbre of joy

a few more laps bring an understanding
of perfection never being perfect
and wholeness always being whole
that sets our eyes anew on
what might yet be beyond joy

and but a bit further
lies a funeral barge
and final words
still searching for peace
still praying for souls
still trusting simply trusting

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