My office couch is a resting place,
not for weary bones after long days, or
curled limbs cradling books of adventures
to be joined. But more often for mail
needing attention, tomes calling for their
shelves, mending awaiting nimble fingers,
notes to be answered. The cushions ignored,
comfort buried in worry.
When the hodgepodge begins its spread
to the floor I scold myself as impatient
mother to shameful child and resolvedly
begin the sort. Trash bag gap-mouthed
ready to swallow once vital, now shrugged
off trifles without a second thought, I wonder
why I fear the beggarly litter when grace and
love are buried so deeply under daily agenda.
In the peace of clearance, in quieted space
of tasks released, I see the opening,
voluminous, bigger than clutter could
ever shroud. Arms welcome rest to lay
my head, put up my feet to still myself and
hear his call, let him cradle me, his beloved.
I am not a fisherman.
My study of the Gospel of Thomas took a break through the Advent and Christmas seasons followed by my project with Brigid of Kildare and Imbolc. With Lent looming, I decided it is time to return to Thomas for a bit.
I am on Logion 8 and the image of fishing left me cold. I attempted it, the logion not fishing, a while back during a small breath of space between the two seasons. I was stumped.
(8) And he said, “The man is like a wise fisherman who cast his net into the sea and drew it up from the sea full of small fish. Among them the wise fisherman found a fine large fish. He threw all the small fish back into the sea and chose the large fish without difficulty. Whoever has ears to hear, let him hear.
I decided to approach Logion 8 one more time through Lectio Divina on my cleared-off couch.
If you would like to read the others poems in my study, click the titles below. Or you can also visit all of them on the Theophany page.