With Spring appareled in blossoms,
she gently wipes away
the soiled sights of wintertime,
to unveil and awaken
the days of warmth and of glamour,
as aromas of blooms by the billion
surprise the clouds
with beauty’s spikenards.
This same absorbing pungent
eliminates remembrance
of sickening rot and vile decay,
exposing tombs unoccupied,
while filled with scented wreaths
and fragrant bouquets,
as though the fields and meadowsÂ
required more breathing space
to demonstrate the beauty of Easter,
alive beyond the blossoms,
eternal like the wind
that carries blessed aromas.
The sweep of beauty
can rival the sun,
with all its waves and streamers of light,
for beauty and light are twins
of solar generation.
This day called good,
not the Sabbath of weekly sanctity,
but a one-time sanctification
because the Father willed it.
The pronouncement
that he sent his son to die,
die on a cross,
is false,
a lie,
though swallowed by half the world.
As Holy Week Delivers Easter,
so Mercy’s Holy Year
delivers the close to lusterless life
to a life enveloped in light.
Release your hold on Lent,
the Holy Year protests,
and preoccupation with sin,
the year of Mercy insists.
Traversing the wilderness of life
to accept the promise
of him who claimed I AM,
the wanderers discovered,
that in place of a water-gushing rock,
the streams poured plentifully,
for ostrich and jackal,
and was shared by those in wavelength
of the upward call.
The Israelites ate
their freshly baked unleavened bread
and roasted grain,
but never again had manna to serve.
Deprived of manna’s mercy,
and the water from the Messiah rock,
they learned to reach for Mercy
in the harvests of their hands,
while sharing their tasty roasted grain,
as they shared
in Emmanuel’s containment of sin,
its force a mountain of stone
which he squeezed in his grasp,
creating a pool of Mercy,
which brothers and sister shared
in sacramental abundance
when faith unlocked the larder.
I am,
this flimsy flame contested,
so like a tongue in shape,
that spoke of mercy
a tongue of flame that burned a bush
but left no trace of cinders,
a tongue which is itself the message,
I am light.
I am
and I wish you to become.
Entangled in lightning
the Lord revealed
the transfiguring prepared
for a brother
condemned unjustly.
As sullied as was his accusation
so glorious his vindication,
as ignominious his dying,
so transformed his restoration,
refulgent in outer trappings
and smiling for conquest complete,
with joy eternal.
Recruiting the heroes of the Mystical Body
through mortal remains recalling deeds
Capuchin Saint Leopold Mandić
and Capuchin Saint Pio of Pietrelcina,
will be placed in honor as models of mercy,
ministering within confessional stations,
for the Capuchin Mercy ceremony
at Saint Peter’s Basilica of mercy.
Not relics only, but bodies respond,
as though ready to begin again,
these heroes of the confessional,
inspiring Capuchins and directing them
to lead the priests of the world
on a crusade of Mercy.
With Pope and Patriarch embracing,
the world received Mercy
as a whirlwind of celestial forces
to sweep away the contradictory edicts
composed in ancient Latin
and equally antique Russian
of doubly uncharitable accusations,
preserved with multiple keys
for endless futile proof.