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Philemon’s Pitcher

Philemon’s Pitcher

(Advent, anytime)

 

I pour water from the Brita

And think of Philemon’s pitcher

A wonderful story

I’m not sure about the judgey part

But the provision part

Is glorious

If you don’t know

(and if you do),

There was an old couple in

Still more ancient Greece

Living near a town that was

Beautiful in appearance, though the

People there were

Took glory too far

They were vain and unwelcoming

Of those who were not they

They lived well

Strangers were not taken in

Nor impoverished neighbors,

Such as Bacchus and Philemon

 

They lived poorly

In a hovel

They had worked hard,

But now there was nothing

And one evening they set out

The last of what they had

For they would surely starve by

The next day

A cluster of worn grapes

A pitcher filled with drops of bitter wine

They last meal together

 

Then two persons appeared in the

Doorway,

And they asked for comforts

Food and afterward a place to sleep

Wife and husband exchanged a glance

Then apologized

To strangers

We have little space

And our food is poor

But we are glad to share with you

If you will, be welcome here

With us

 

The visitors were pleased and thanked their hosts

And sat down to eat and drink

What might not even share among

The four of them

But when

 

The wine poured from the pitcher,

It was wondrous

Rich in red and filled with

Savor once tried

And when the grapes were offered,

They appeared full richly on the plate

And were sweet to taste

And satisfying

And the four at table feasted

On small miracles

 

Once sated

All lay down to rest

What coverings there were,

Bacchus and Philemon presented

To their guests

 

And in the morning

The couple woke beneath marvelous cloths

And their raiment appeared richly sewn

Their hovel was a house

Of polished marble, the furnishings all

Castle-grand

 

They walked outside into the sun

And in the valley where the town of

The conceited lay,

There was now a lake

Whose surface shown in judgment

Nothing more was seen

Then they knew

If not before

That they had been visited by gods

Who rendered service rendered

From the welcoming

Like that of kings and queens

And thought unasked for

Reward turned into recompense

 

And so we know

Something of receiving strangers

Who give no cause but need

Be inclined to welcome them

For we might be entertaining angels,

Unaware

 

C L Couch

 

 

https://grabcad.com/library/pitcher-of-wine

 

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With Longing from Earth’s Children

With Longing from Earth’s Children

(Advent, anytime)

 

Lord, this season belongs to you

All seasons belong

Forgive if we’re slow

Or late

Or ornery enough to forget

It is the start of your new year

But the end of our old year

And we’ve sent ourselves an invitation

To go crazy

Worse, there is real need

Deeper than snow can fall

That knows no season’s boundary

It lives within

Sometimes we know it’s there

Sometimes we don’t

Sometimes we choose not to

We all have problems, after all

But some live in places

That are broken

Physical brokenness

That war, privation, indifference

Victimizing cause

And then there’s the other kind

The broken heart

The mind that’s split

The spirit rendered febrile by the world

That might splinter anytime

All this taken possession

By what’s wrong

Without the hope that right

Might have us, yet

 

Your child’s need was not to die

Not to be beaten

Starved and rendered thirsty

Dressed in mockery

Dragged through city streets

Out to a hill

For the devil’s victory

 

But this side of apocalypse

All victories are brief

Even the demons’

Their win broke inside the Earth

And rose in three-days time

 

And where have you appeared since them

To break the bonds of unholy agendas

To release captive spirits

Finally, forever

 

It’s your season, Lord

As all seasons are

Think of us in our deep tracks of mindlessness

Sometimes of our making

Sometimes by other strategy

Think of us

Help us think of you

For the thought might be a start

Or something else of us, an instance of hope

Surprise of feeling

Dawn-like or midnight inspiration

Might spark

 

Remembrance

A shifting of our spirits

Our wills to the favor

Of your power

 

C L Couch

 

 

the title is taken from

Newell, Philip (2011). Praying with the Earth. United Kingdom: The Canterbury Press Norwich Editorial Office. p. 52. ISBN 978-0-8028-6653-0. Archived from the original on 23 March 2012.

 

(image)

William Murphy from Dublin, Ireland – Celtic Cross – Glasnevin Cemetery Uploaded by AlbertHerring

 

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As We Are, as We Want to Be

As We Are, as We Want to Be

(Advent, anytime)

 

There’s an invitation

For new year’s

Please join

I don’t know how we set the dates

I don’t think we know

There are forgotten, buried stories

Maybe we’ll unearth someday

 

Some have already started

Some will start today

Some will start tomorrow

In the vigil

Many will wait until the planet begins

To turn the other way

And many, many more will wait until

It’s been decided that it’s time

 

In the north, the cold time will begin

And though it might be harder,

The days will be getting

Shorter

Maybe it makes more sense in the south

 

But I’m here

And you are where you are

Maybe here,

And we’ll have what we have

And, ironies aside,

It’s still something new

 

Earth-angling

The season

More importantly, inside

As new as we want or need

 

New year

As we are,

As we want to be

 

C L Couch

 

 

By Henk Caspers/Naturalis Biodiversity Center, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45342382

 

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Revenant

Revenant

(Advent or anytime)

 

This is my country now

We brutalize the families

At the border

And the young who attack them

We can remember what

This did to us in Viet Nam

If we want to

The enemy had wrecked the families

First, and then we had

To finish its work

It was strategy

What is this?

What child is this?

 

For every war we cause with someone

Small,

We make it harder for the Christ child

Or any child

Any family

To come here

 

C L Couch

 

 

Reuters

This photograph by @Reuters shows the United States of America firing tear gas at women and children.

 

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Silent Mortal Flesh

Silent Mortal Flesh

(Advent or any beginning)

 

It’s a mystery

A season

Then eternity

Each day feels eternal, doesn’t it?

The hours move, and we are here

Sometimes there is pleasure

Sometimes there is a burden

They are a gift, though it can be hard

To feel that,

That show a part of what’s to come

But there’s so little to know

For sure

 

What can we be sure of?

That we are here and we were made

We got here somehow, even if it

Seems sensible to call it random

Random is

Part of the mystery, too

 

So many days

So many people

How can Earth bear it all?

But it does

Time, too, that seems to

Draw the seasons out

And give them passage

Through channels of sameness

And difference

 

Someday we’ll know

A mystery like dye removed

From food or fabric

But maybe in a still and quiet hour

In an empty room

 

Let this season start

It’s what we’ve had

It will be new

 

Ponder what is here

And what is descending

Not like something falling

An apple dropped from a tower

But like a bird

Fast or slow

Surely to the ground

 

Begin transacting with the Earth

Whose vibrations in return

Will resonate with who we are

And what we have.

Like mystery,

And, like

Mystery, letting the new season change us

 

C L Couch

 

 

Uploaded by: marabu

http://absfreepic.com/free-photos/download/candlestick-on-the-wood-4000x3000_40197.html

 

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New Year

New Year

(first day in Advent)

 

Lord, I love you

But sometimes

You make things so hard

I’m not saying life can’t have

Its sharpness

We all get cut from time to tome

There are always to stanch the bleeding

But

It hurts each time

And some hurts, well, keep on hurting

Damaged nerves

Wounded organs

Burdens in the blood

I guess I’m complaining

What could I ask for?

Most anodynes aren’t real

And aren’t cheap

And I am not a boy in a cave

Who found a magic lamp

And you are not a genie

 

Some help, please—

Are you listening?

 

I am

You had me at I love you

 

C L Couch

 

 

note

in case you’re counting, which is a point for seasons, Advent starts Sunday 2 December; for the Christian church, Advent starts the new year

 

at A Good Morning Café, Los Altos, California (USA)

https://www.yelp.com/biz/a-good-morning-cafe-los-altos-2

http://www.agoodmorninglosaltos.com/

 

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