would you have with us, O Son of God?
Must we enter maimed and blind and lame
Into that kingdom that you call good news?
Must we forsake all that we hold so dear,
Tread underfoot the love of kith and kin
To venture far into a land unknown
by night in naked faith?
Why did you choose
the uphill road
end is death in bitter loneliness?
Was there no other way
for us who are but mortals, made
Of flesh and blood, with fallen hearts
That need to breath a lesser air than heaven's heights?
There sounds no answer —
Only arms outstretched
in silent helplessness — upon a tree
which humbly break the wounded Bread
Hold out a cup like rich red wine.
a Cloistered Poor Clare Colettine Nun