Memorandum to Myself
The point is not
to worship the Caesar of the moment,
to swing one's thurible before "the powers that seem,"
or to make a fetish of "order" and "rules"
or to indict those noble women and men with gospel hearts
who might not have memorized each line of the Catechism.
This isn't about the horrid little security
of ecclesial partisanship.
This is about Matthew 25.
This is about the last, the least, and the lost.
This is about society's pariah
helping to heal the man at the side of the road
bleeding and half-dead.
When nobody else would.
Not the priest, not the lector, not the deacon,
not the sacristan, not the daily communicant.
This is about rescuing ourselves from apathy,
from bitterness, from impatience,
from any and all illusions
that impair our kinship with one another.
This is about rescuing others from the wounds
caused by callous authorities,
by a death-bent culture,
by an avaricious zeitgeist.
This is "Give me a drink."
This is "Go and do likewise."
This is "Your brother was lost
and has been found again."
This is "Neither do I condemn you."
This is "She has loved much."
This is "Your faith has saved you."
This is "Today you will be with me."
It's easier said than done, to be sure.
But this is the point, and the only point.
Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas
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Written on 2018-11-06 at 10:23
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