Sept. 26, 2010
Bus driver, move that bus! We want to see
the rooms You’ve been preparing just for us,
Your temples rebuilt incorruptibly,
impenetrable to thieves, immune to rust.
So long we’ve lived in homes in disrepair,
inheriting fixer-uppers far too small.
We broke the windows, pried off the topmost stair.
Our childhood crayon-marks still stain the wall.
Why did You ever move in and share our space;
mend, plumb, repaint what might be well condemned;
leave the Spirit, a deposit of our place
in Your new city – perfect and without end?
The engine will roar – the wheels will roll away –
the twinkling of an eye, and we’ll be home to stay.
Dunk down the draught of light, and watch the sun
rise five times bigger, brighter on the sea—
nothing but light for fathoms. Ripples run
between white lilies floating silently.
The sweetness flows past open lips and fills
the stomach with some substance real as bread.
Here near the world’s end I can see the hills
reel without end to the sun where noon is spread
and spilled to mortal eyes. Light-water clears
my vision to admit more light, and more.
More swell desires to see these bright frontiers
and Aslan, lion-lamb, to touch the shore
and feel the light-grown grass between my toes
by ocean-light and mountains without snows.
Egyptian pyramids — what can I say
of them, symbols of slavery and death
and slavery to death? All things decay —
in molecules and memories and breath.
We mummify the flesh or crush the bones
under the blocks – the person’s gone away,
no more to sleep in gutters or sit on thrones,
souls slumbering until the shaking day.
The elements will melt, and men will know
equality of sin and lift of grace.
Is heaven level? Even here below
kings read their vices in a servant’s face.
What shock when slaves and monarchs reunite!
The only One high will claim their service right.
A Catholic Adventist, you hang between
two very different faiths. You must decide.
You love the chanting, prayers at eventide
and go to mass and study with your keen
and probing mind each lesson you can glean
from catechism. Protestants defied
Rome’s right to be our first spiritual guide.
Christ is our vicar, and we have no queen.
You see this and the place that Sabbath takes
but also see the richness of the saints.
Tolkien and Pope and Thompson, Hopkins stood
for faith creative. Mystery awakes.
It sleeps in our brown churches ’til complaints
carve Catholic wonder in Adventist wood.