Written for St. Francis…


Suppose there was a man that all termed crazy,

Who laughed when hurt and sang when he was cold

Yet what to say if you had seen upon him

Within his hands the nail marks of the Lord?

And what if you could feel and know his passion

The reason why he walks with shoeless feet

Along this road where dirt climbs into nail-wounds

Returning dust to dust, considered sweet.

And know the longings of a heart of Seraphim

That burns with love this world cannot contain

That sings with the intensity of angels

When suffering for the glory of the Name.

A love that takes on strength of wind and sunbeams

And gentleness of streams and newborn lambs

To make more tangible and real to every person

The nearness of the mighty, great I AM.

A poverty for sake of something greater:

The poverty of trees, and flowers, and grass

That take only the things that they are given

And bless the One Who feeds them from His Hands.

And the world looks now a wild and wondrous entity

Made sacred by the breath that gave it birth

Deserving not of honor for its’ own sake:

But for the One to whom it owes its’ worth.

Could you but see the Source of song and laughter,

In face of pain beyond what we would bare,

And of this love beyond what we can fathom

You’d see the Incarnate God within him there.

Love and poverty, and perfect joy, and suffering

unite in one intensity of man:

who clings both to this world, and yet transcendence

With all the strength of bleeding, wounded hands.


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