Fingerprints of Light

sunset6121          And when light
comes from nowhere I can see,when my soul is clothed in
golden bandages, ribbons of grace,
how can I tell you? Or even tell myself
so I can write it down? No words
are bright enough to catch
those fingerprints of radiance
that flicker on my wall.
~Luci Shaw from “I Say Light, Thinking”

No words are adequate.
No picture can capture it.
It must be felt, deeply,
these wounds bandaged with balm so bright
wrapped in radiant grace
that comes from nowhere known.

His fingerprints are all over it.
It all can be traced back to Him.

sunset6123

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Hammered Dome

 

photo of the Nooksack Cirque by Josh Scholten
photo of the Nooksack Cirque by Josh Scholten
photo of the ice melt, the origins of the Nooksack River at the Nooksack Cirque by Josh Scholten
photo of the ice melt, the origins of the Nooksack River at the Nooksack Cirque by Josh Scholten

At the foot of the cirque,
where the ice of ages melts down into
the forked river called Nooksack, we are held
in the palm of a great hand.  Through the tent flap
the stars overhead radiate from
the “hammered dome,” what the ancients
called the firmament, but so pliant we want
to finger it, to pull it on, dusky, like a cap
against frost.
~Luci Shaw from “Singing Bowl”

the "hammered dome" by Josh Scholten
the “hammered dome” by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten

 

A Mere Mist

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.
James 4:14

photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten

…Noticing
a spider’s web under the olive trees
splendidly hung with early drops, already
vanishing up the vortex of the air
…a heaven-sent refreshment? or a curtain
cutting out the light?
And I must ask it now

(small moisture that I am)under the sun of God’s great grace on me:
Which am I–dew, or fog?
~Luci Shaw from “…for you are a mist“

To be mist that clarifies
rather than opacifies,
that reflects
rather than absorbs,
that replenishes
rather than depletes~

to evaporate within His warmth,
glistening with descended grace.

 

 

Joining in the Hymn

photo by Josh Scholten
photo by Josh Scholten

I wished to wade in the trillium
and be warmed near the white flames.
I imagined the arch of my foot
massaged by the mosses.
This field immersed in gravity
defying growth.  Green and glorious.
It let me know that out of the
soil came I, and green I shall be.
Whether an unnamed weed or a
wild strawberry I will join in
the hymn.
~Luci Shaw from “Spring Song, Very Early Morning”

wild-strawberry

Lenten Reflection–Piercing the Soul

“This child is like a pearl,
Some men will forfeit everything
To have his love, while others cling
To worthless things and forfeit life.
He is a source of peace—and strife.
And many thoughts he will reveal
That men have thought they could conceal.
And you, most blessed woman too,
Will see what wicked men can do.
Your love to him will take its toll,
And like a sword will pierce your soul.”
from John Piper in “Simeon“

Older than eternity, now he
is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed
to my poor planet, caught
that I might be free, blind in my womb
to know my darkness ended,
brought to this birth for me to be new-born,
and for him to see me mended
I must see him torn.
from “Accompanied by Angels” by Luci Shaw

The God of curved space, the dry
God, is not going to help us, but the son
whose blood splattered
the hem of his mother’s robe.
“Looking at Stars”  by Jane Kenyon

This was the day she had been told would come yet she could not have anticipated how horrific would be His suffering, how hideous His wounds, how extensively His blood covered those around Him.  She could not have imagined the helplessness she felt in being unable to comfort Him, ease His pain, or smooth His torn brow.  She could not have known she would feel His hurt so deeply; it was as if she too had been lacerated and drained of life herself.

Yet looking down at her from the cross, despite His own distress, He compassionately provides for her future care and protection.  He continues loving her even when He is beyond her reach. He doesn’t abandon her even as He endures the unendurable–separation from His Father and betrayal by His people.

She shed her blood bearing Him, birthing Him to breathe and walk and live fully on this earth;  now her heart breaking,  she watches Him surrender and take His last breath.
He sheds His cleansing blood in parting, once and for all mending all that is pierced and broken in us, yet rending forever that which separates us from God.


Called to Advent–magnifying

Botticelli Magnificat

And Mary said: “My soul magnifies the Lord”…
Luke 1:46

The Incarnation allows us to see and hear and touch what we could only glimpse before in a pillar of smoke, a tabernacle, a burning bush, a still small voice. God becomes magnified in the manger with unmistakable clarity and focus. He is rocked and fed, picked up when He falls, comforted when He cries, guided and taught and loved.

What was once remote from us is now up close, magnified like a setting moon becoming huge on the horizon at dawn. He has settled among us. He has become us.


“These still December mornings…
Outside everything’s tinted rose, grape, turquoise,
silver–the stones by the path, the skin of the sun

on the pond ice, at the night the aureola of
a pregnant moon, like me, iridescent,
almost full term with light.”

Luci Shaw in “Advent Visitation”

An Advent Tapestry–Infinity Walled in a Womb

“infinity walled in a womb…”
from “Made flesh,” in Accompanied by Angels: Poems of the Incarnation by Luci Shaw

Elizabeth knew without being told as soon as she heard Mary’s voice.  Or rather the baby in old Elizabeth’s womb knew, as he leaped for joy as she was filled with the spirit.  Two intrauterine mysteries meeting each other for the first time, belly to belly.   There is nothing more finite than the space in the womb–it gets crowded in there quickly over a scant few months.  Yet there infinity dwelled within the finite.

As I am no theologian, I’m not capable of discussing the intricacy of the reformational argument of finitum capax infiniti (the finite is capable of the infinite) vs finitum non capax infiniti (the finite is not capable of the infinite) which has to do with Christ’s bodily presence in the Eucharist.  As a mother, I know that finite Mary carried the infinite–“inside her the mind of Christ”…

“…inside her the mind
of Christ, cloaked in blood,
lodges and begins to grow.”
from “Mosaic of the Nativity” by Jane Kenyon

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.”
from Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

An Advent Tapestry–For him to see me mended I must see him torn

Mary’s Song

from Accompanied by Angels: Poems of the Incarnation

by Luci Shaw

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast

keep warm this small hot naked star

fallen to my arms. (Rest…

you who have had so far to come.)

Now nearness satisfies

the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies

whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps

whose eyelids have not closed before.

His breath (so light it seems

no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps

to sprout a world. Charmed by doves’ voices,

the whisper of straw, he dreams,

hearing no music from his other spheres.

Breath, mouth, ears, eyes

he is curtailed who overflowed all skies,

all years. Older than eternity, now he

is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed

to my poor planet, caught

that I might be free, blind in my womb

to know my darkness ended,

brought to this birth for me to be new-born,

and for him to see me mended

I must see him torn.


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