Portal to Eternity

If the past has a portal,
I take up the Gift,
The blood of the Lamb,
And apply it to the door-posts,
And lintels,
That it may cry out for this sinner,
And my heritage,
That the Angel of Death
May pass me by.

Cry for me, My Beloved,
In my night,
That the past,
Now cleansed,
Open in Your Heart
A door to heavenly Eternity.

Cry, my Beloved,
Plead mercy on my history,
And newness of Life,
In this cleansed space of being,
New Creation,
A heart and soul after Your Own.
Henceforth and forever one.

© 2014 Joann Nelander

Listening and Silent

It seems...
I am always talking to You,
That I am always with You,
And have no doubt
You are with me,
Listening and silent.

I am an endless monologue.
You, hovering Spirit,
Wordlessly eloquent
Abide.
You are Presence and Truth,
Listening and silent,
Thunderously silent,
Save for the stirring of my heart,
And the sometime rush of thought,
Coming, as it were,
From the bowels of my being
With frightening conviction,
And challenging my reticence
To speak aloud
The thoughts of solitude.

Reluctant always
To go about,
And leave the cloister of my heart,
Where in Your chambers I find,
And hold dear,
Private audience with the King,

The world without is a noisy charade,
And woos the pride of me take center stage.
Where suddenly I realize
I have been talking much, too much,
To my regret.

I, naggingly, suspect
I have diminished
What was my treasure
And ceased to learn.
Cacophany of me,
I cease to learn,
And simply rearrange,
That with which I am familiar.

Where do prophet, poet and a would be recluse
Find voice if not in You,
Rejecting even audience
To find You in my silence,
Your silence?

©2012 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved

Holy of Holies

Give me a heart
Desirous of Truth.
You, Who rent
In two the veil,
That hid Your Divinity
In the mystery
Of Flesh and Blood,
Incarnation for my salvation,
Open the Way
For me to enter in,
That loving You,
I may taste
The heavenly Bread,
And walk, henceforth,
A child, at home
In the Holy of Holies.

Copyright 2013 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved

Seared into Her Soul

Seared into her soul,
She lived in the reality
Of the Christ.
She loved in the reality
Of the Anointed One,
The appointed One.

Seared into her soul,
She lived in the reality
Of the Crucifixion.
She suffered in the reality
Of the Crucified.

Seared into her soul,
Abandonment,
Alive for her Son,
She lived life now,
In His Dying,
In His Death.

Seared into her soul,
The life born purified
For this moment,
The moment of His glory.

Seared into her soul,
The birthing of His Body,
And from the Cross
Received His Church as Son.

Seared into her soul,
Moments for Eternity,
By His birth, the Father said,
"Into your hands I commit my Son."
The Virgin said, "Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum"
The Son said, "Mother".

Seared into her soul,
The Mother said,"My Son"
With the Son in the Spirit,
"Into Your Hands I commit my spirit."
We rest in her "Amen."

©2013 Joann Nelander
All rights reserved

Infant King Benign

O Infant King benign
I offer You the face
Of Mother Mary
As she gazed upon You
That very first time
Beholding long
Your holy countenance.

Her eyes, drinking in her Babe,
Her King, her Priest,
Her Son Divine,
Wept tears of joy,
And wonder,
In silent adoration,
Pondering comprehension.
She smiled in inward exultation.

You will never forget
Her look of love
As she gazed upon
Him, Who no earthly eye
Had seen,
A treasure for the world,
In her care,
To be wrapped
In lowly swaddling clothes
You, O Christ Child,
In Your humanity divine.

Host Upon the Altar

Pristine the whiteness
Engulfed in radiant flame,
Golden the rays,
Set about Your throne upon the altar.
For all the beauty of the monstrance,
You outshine the artist’s creation,
Just as You outshine Creation.

Give me eyes to see the Reality.
My eyes are designed to apprehend matter.
Here, You give us Mystery, Divinity.
I long to look upon Your fleshly Flesh,
To see Your locks curl mildly on Your shoulders,
To see the flash of smile and twinkle of the eye,
Majesty of manner, and goodly gentleness.

I gaze upon the Host,
All the while my heart and mind
Bring visions to the fore.
Power subdued in obedience,
Might bowed to the Father’s Will,
Abandonment, a fulfillment of prophetic word,
Suffering and salvific.

A Babe, a Boy, a Man,
Commending unto You
From womb to tomb,
In ignominy, yet dignity,
A Life and Death
Swallowing up Your wrath.

He bequeathed to us His Mother,
His ark and monstrance,
Forever refuge of the sinner
At the altar of His Dying,
He willed to us a Mother,
Pristine Whiteness.

I Am the Gift

 

I am the gift
God gives to me,
Mysterious and known,
But to God.
Unfolding like the petals of a rose,
From tightly wound bud,
To glorious blossom,
Unfurled and unfettered,
I move with the wind
And dance with the sun,
Following its course

Across the sky.
I am God's gracious gift.
He, the grace giver.
May I serve to delight Him,
By the fragrance of my being,
Offering no resistance,
As I incline
To the gentle breeze,
Or bow in storm's fury.
The gift God gives to me,
I kiss and make return,
One smiling bloom
In God's splendid bouquet of creation.

©2012 Joann Nelander

Did You Dance?

Did you laugh?
Did you dance?
You were there
I remember.

The invitation,
Sent from my heart,
Was as personal
As a dream.

Hopes,
Whispered and shared,
Then tucked away
With our days,

The stuff of weavers,
Spinning bright threads
Running their course
Replete with expectations
Not to be denied.

Full of welcome,
An invitation to dance,
With the bride
Loving her groom
In the Mystery of You,

Did you dance,
Did you laugh,
When our love
Blossomed and bloomed,
Bearing children
To delight our hearts,
Gladdening our garden
With sweet enchantment.

Today I pick flowers,
Memories like posies,
In colored bouquets.
Today our hearts are full.
Today we celebrate,
And spread our blanket
On grassy meadows.

Resting and remembering
All happiness,
And passing sorrow,
Shared and savored,
As water turned wine.

Come and laugh.
Come and dance.
Years like water,
Running a course.
Years full and fleeting,
Waltzing and jigging
Spent in embrace.

Our dance goes on,
On to trip through the night,
Marathon run,
Accompanied with music
Floating on Life’s breezes.
Two become one,
Dancing in You.

By Joann Salerno Nelander, Bride

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.