The Heavy Plow

  The Heavy Plow The Plow upon His shoulder, He walks across the land, The earth spreads open, Behind the steps, Of this man. The Planter of the seed, Pulls the heavy Plow, The ground is rent, Soil bared, His work draws a crowd. Like a beast beneath the yoke, He stumbles in His task, The Plow digs deep, As the crowd around Him laughs. The plow row behind Him, Opens to receive the seed, While men and women rejoice, To see Him on his knees. The Plow again now rises, Here, double yoked, A Cyrenian pressed in service, In this cruel, heartless joke. The heavy Plow upon them, They furrow up the hill, The crowd of endless ages, Laugh at it still. Blood and sweat drip, Watering the row, The seeds begin to spring, In the garden far below. The heavy Plow is planted, Firmly in the dirt, The work is nearly finished, Of sowing this rebirth. The Planter on the Plow, Looks out upon His work, Though His heart is pierced, He declares it - good. Earth, now turned over, Beneath the heavy Plow, Stands wa

Blessed

Luke 6:20-26

Blessed are you who are poor
He who has but little
in gift or in desire
surely shall inherit all
when body moves up higher
His life will have been spent
in loving not the earth
but in God alone his peace
in God alone his worth.

Blessed are you who hunger
The man who seeks for justice
and for his daily bread
will find a heavenly reward
in being justly fed.
The stomach and the mind
groan to seek their fill
on earth the quest is all for nought
but eternity both fulfill

Blessed are you who are now weeping
The tears of man flow down
in a never ending stream
longing for a peace
that with eyes of faith is seen.
The terror of the night
and death that walks the land
shall disapear in our true home
never again to haunt a man.

Blessed are you when people hate you
The wrath of men unmoved
by grace or thought or deed
cast insult and hate
blood spilled becomes the seed.
The beast or the gallow
mockery before a crowd
will all be blessing in the end
so leap for joy at your reward

FROM THE SAINTS
"The waters have risen and severe storms are upon us, but we do not fear drowning, for we stand firmly upon a rock. Let the sea rage, in cannot break the rock. Let the waves rise, they cannot sink the boat of Jesus. What are we to fear? Death? Life to me means Christ, and death is gain. Exile? The earth and its fullness belong to the Lord. The confiscation of our goods? We brought nothing into this world, and we shall surely take nothing from it. I have only contempt for the world's threats, I find its blessings laughable. I have no fear of poverty, no desire for wealth. I am not afraid of death nor do I long to live, except for your good."
- Saint John Chrysostom

Comments

Anonymous said…
Fr. Stan?
Sarah Reinhard said…
Love this, Jim! :)
James M. Hahn said…
Thanks. Fr. Stan has been after me to write some stuff for him. Not!