Reflection: A Paschal Place
Sister Patricia Ann Mahoney penned this poem in 1991 while on retreat at
Our Lady of Solitude House of Prayer in Black Canyon City, Ariz. The facility has been repurposed since then, but Sister's reflection on life, death and, yes, peace remain.
Wood gnarled and bleached by sun, wind and sand, bones of cactus, scattered askew,
Yet over all – hummingbird wings bearing nectar like morning’s first dew.
A paschal place: Now death, now life, each clinging as long as it may;
Terror of thorns, tender of sprouts, grown to give glory for only a day.
Naked mountains, shadowing tree-bare rocks exposed to sky’s steady gaze;
But clothed in bronze-gold at dawn and set, flowing purple ‘neath clouds at midday.
A paschal place: Now dark, now light, stark silhouettes peel from beams
Bold as the sun, only to dissolve with stars’ cool and delicate gleam.
Is there no mix, no blend, no meet, to temper this mighty strain?
A pair of Hands, wounded, catches strands now, of each,
Weaving silently, humbly a cloth born of pain.
A Paschal Place: He spins death, He spins life, bodying beauty in all that He wears.
Lord of dust, Lord of rain, weave us, too, each by name;
Make us one in the desert we share.
