Seven Luminous Mysteries

Seven Luminous Mysteries

A singularity of silence speaks
above complexity, a voice abrupt
startles locust eating crowds in muddy creeks.
It hails a man’s emergent birth, erupt-
ing suddenly from sin-drenched Jordan’s reek.
Who born was blameless now must be corrupt
with every guilt for he has come to seek
the damned. By guilelessness he will disrupt
deceiving systems; cleanse with his own blood
the face of earth, and lead by sweet allure
the lost to heaven’s bliss. Now from the flood
this baptized man is born, his mission sure:
that he should render from the worthless mud
the useful water, lowly, prized and pure.


The useful water, lowly, prized and pure
awaits a moment no one might suppose.
Neglected like a quivered bolt obscure,
it cleanses faces, hands, utensils, bowls
to keep the arcane rites. It must demur
address of treacherous or sinful woes
that desecrate, that blood alone can cure.
At last an unknown wedding guest bestows
upon the jars a word, a secret sign.
His mother sees but whispers nothing more
than “Listen closely, follow his design.”
“Draw some out. There’s plenty more in store,”
he says, “and all shall drink the finest wine.
Today’s the day for unsurpassed accord.”


Today’s the day for unsurpassed accord;
repent, believe the news, it starts today.
Disturbing people, occupied and bored
the shouting healer raced from burg to bay
he sang the news that thrilled the stricken horde.
They came because he brought a sudden ray
of hope where righteousness could not afford
assurance even for the dead. They laid
the sick and crippled, feeble, deaf and blind
beneath his voice, before his eyes, within
his reach; he cured them all. He’d come to find
the ones his father loved, and to begin
a new regime of mercy, to unbind
the shackled earth, so deeply mired in sin.


The shackled earth, so deeply mired in sin,
lay comatose and helpless before his sad-
dened eyes. Where does salvation start when
so little time remains? His early glad
beginnings paled before the demon’s win-
ning hand. The healed will die, the muddled mad
will slip into insanity again.
Were all his works, his signs and wonders, dead?
Then Silence whispered to his only son;
and gentle Moses spoke of God’s command;
Elijah stood beside him like the sun;
and beauty inundated all the land.
Redemption, mercy, healing would be won
with bayoneted heart and tortured hands.


…with bayoneted heart and tortured hands?
His body trembles as his spirit soars.
Whatever happens, fondness for his friends
will shape his prayer within his Father’s court.
And that surpasses bounds as every man’s
concern impales his heart, a stabbing sword
of brotherly affection. When Martha sends
him news – the death of Lazarus -- the word
invites his final test. He must go down
to save a life by giving one. The hour
has come. His sullen enemies abound
in Bethany, already they have scoured
the neighborhood to run him to the ground
as silence beckons him to Zion's tower.


As silence beckons him to Zion’s tower
the masses find relief in something true;
they open wide the narrow gate to shower
hosannas down upon his head, and “You
are seated on Israel’s praise, your bower
is silver and the finest gold.” But few
can dare imagine that a final hour
of fearful blessing looms, for something new
will smash even mantic madman rants;
the wicked with the righteous will collude
inspiring deadly blooms where desert plants
have failed. They cease their prehistoric feud
with precious harmonies and soulful cants.
For peace must pitch his tent with Adam’s brood.


For Peace must pitch his tent with Adam’s brood
apparently to settle old accounts;
and some believe his pleasure will include
a pound of flesh for every precious ounce
of blood was spilt. God’s foolishness eludes
more clever schemes, they always pounce
on tenderness. Their vanities preclude
enormity that steps beyond all bounds.
So when he shares a meal of honest bread
and common wine, a homely rite of meek
simplicity, and comrades plunge ahead,
consuming unawares the flesh that seeks
atonement for the living and the dead,
A singularity of silence speaks.