Wounded Love

Thomas wanted reality.
Thomas wanted answers.
Thomas wanted undeniable proof.

He trusted his mind.
He trusted his senses.
He walked by sight,
But feared to trust
The witnesses of Resurrection.

A God, with wounds of Love, understood.
A God, marked by our disbelief,
Stood before him,
In plain sight.

Thomas finger my wounds.
Feel the warmth of human flesh.
Feel the throbbing of My Heart,
Bounding against
Your hand in My Side.

Thomas, you sought only
The trappings of reality.
Am I real now,
Real enough for you,
My friend?

Standing, face to face,
Before I Am,
Bought to his knees
By living, breathing, proof,
He stands in our place.

Humbled by faith’s awakening,
Before the True Witness,
Senses satisfied,
Content, now, and forever,
He’ll follow blindly,
Unto death,
Into eternity.

“My Lord and my God.”

Copyright Joann Nelander 2012
All rights reserved

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The Fisher and His Net

You are inconvenient Truth.
I want to believe myself alive.
I tout myself spiritual.
You are the spoiler
In the midst
Of my presumptions.

I run with the world
And You fish for me.
Cast your net after me.
I duck the toss,
Scamper out of reach.

Though its weave
Be that of Love,
It’s warp be reason,
Faith the weft
That elevates,
I fear your net as chains.

If I only knew
Who it is
Who is constantly
Trolling the Deep
To save me.

If I could see
That I am blinded
In the chaos.
Trapped in ancient lies,
Ensnared in deception’s trenches.

Tides and currents,
Direct my movement.
I am not free.

I flow
Caught in the embrace
Of the masses,
Pitiful humanity,
Chained by tumultuous sensation ,
And arrogant bravado,
Regardless of Truth’s freedom.

Relentless Pursuer,
Plot the routes of my escape
To wait for me
In the shallows
And guide me.
Then encircled
By Your arms,
Lift me beyond myself.

Deliver me, O, Fisher
From the waters
In which I drown.

Draw me up
To Yourself
Separating the flotsam,
And jetsam,
Counting me Your own.

© 2012 Joann Nelander

All rights reserved

By Your Presence

You, by Your Presence, O Lord,
Are Light to my darkness.
You are the kiss upon my brow,
The oil upon my head,
The arms of sweet embrace,
The banner over my heart.

You, All Love,
Bless this child of Your magnificent
And magnanimous Mercy.
Day by day.
I find You all about me.

Flowers and fields,
Spread before me
As a welcoming blanket.
Come rest awhile, You invite.
I come and I delight.

P.S.

A Man Clothed in Sin

A man clothed in sin
Walked the long aisle
To stand before the Crucifix.

Long years,
No tears,
He came to say,
“You died for me,
And I don’t give a damn!”

The hardened before the Hallowed,
The clock running down,
Time spent and unreflected,
Deeds done and unrepentant.

Challenged to say the words,
He began,
“You died for me,
And I don’t give…”

Undaunted, he repeated,
“You died for me
And I don’t…..”
Gaze focused
On that bloodied Corpse,
Resolute, again, he began.
“You died for me…”
…….
“You died for me…”
“You died for me!”

Tears, tears,
Rivers of tears,
Years unspent,
And now in flood.

Miracles at the Red Sea,
Yet, none greater
Than the Passover,
One innocent Lamb,
Slain, and yet standing,
Lifted up,
Drawing thee.

© 2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved

Inspired by another story :

MONDAY, 6 AUGUST 2007

Cardinal Lustiger RIP 1926-2007


I didn’t always agree with the former Archbishop of Paris, Cardinal Jean-Marie Lustiger, who died yesterday, but his tenure of that see brought a great deal more good than harm, I think. On his watch, the Catholic life of the city gained a huge boost; the new movements revitalized many parishes, and vocations to the priesthood soared. I remember that he habitually celebrated Mass in Notre Dame almost every Sunday evening for the young people who came to that Mass; a great example to the other bishops of France, many of whom are facing the priestly extinction of their dioceses.
I heard a story attributed to him—maybe it is one he told rather than a story about himself (since he himself was a Jewish convert). I was given to understand that the story is a true one.
Two boys were, out of mischief, determined to tease their parish priest, so they went to confession and made up outrageous sins, just to see what the priest would say. The priest, listening to the second boy, realizing that he was being ‘had’, and hurt by the mockery of the sacrament, asked the second lad as a ‘penance’ to go to the crucifix over the tabernacle and shout out loud, three times ‘you died for me, and I don’t give a damn’. The lad did as he was asked; by the third time he was in tears. Some years later, he was ordained a priest.
May Jean-Marie Lustiger rest in peace.

A Man Clothed in Sin

A man clothed in sin
Walked the long aisle
To stand before the Crucifix.

Long years,
No tears,
He came to say,
"You died for me,
And I don’t give a damn!"

The hardened before the Hallowed,
The clock running down,
Time spent and unreflected,
Deeds done and unrepentant.

Challenged to say the words,
He began,
"You died for me,
And I don’t give…"

Undaunted, he repeated,
"You died for me
And I don’t….."
Gaze focused
On that bloodied Corpse,
Resolute, again, he began,
"You died for me…"
…….
"You died for me…"
"You died for me!"

Tears, tears,
Rivers of tears,
Years unspent,
And now in flood.

Miracles at the Red Sea,
Yet, none greater
Than the Passover,
One innocent Lamb,
Slain, and yet standing,
Lifted up,
Drawing thee.

© 2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved

Holy Fetus

O, Holy Fetus,
One cell, two cells,
Cell upon cell,
You took shape,
Within the Virgin’s womb.

O Holy Child,
Born to die,
You were born in Bethlehem
City of Promise,
But conceived in Nazareth,
Crossroad of sinners,
Now graced
By the Holy.

Cell upon cell,
Grace upon grace,
The Virgin’s
“Fiat”
Alleluia!

Copyright Joann Nelander 2012

All rights reserved