Lenten Mercy ~ Meditation: "Keep the faith!"

This photo of my father, John Matthew, was taken in Windham, New York in 1947 when he was 41 years old. He and my mother liked to go there on their off time. My paternal grandparents were Irish born and emigrated here in the late 1800's - my father being born in New York City in 1906. Catherine was a maid to wealthy families on Park Avenue; my grandfather shod horses in Manhattan. 

When I was in seminary on the north shore of Long Island, my father lived in a small apartment on the south shore. The drive each month to visit him took awhile as the roads to center island were two-lane, hilly and winding. And we'd sit awhile and talk, especially about seminary news. 

But when it was time for me to leave to make curfew, instead of saying good-bye at the door, his last words were always, "Keep the faith." I never asked him about the expression, but I imagine it was an Irish-ism, as Irish Catholics lived under a bloody English rule for a thousand years, and the faith had to be lived quietly and secretively. 

I imagine "Keep the faith" meant: Stay standing in the invisible; trouble may be near. In the winding way: stay trusting and reliant. Along the dark way: stay awake to spiritual things. "The faith" is my own I believe. Here's mine, and of course, you can write your own.

I believe in the eastern sky,
its colors, 
warmth
and invitation.

I believe in the animals,
the Sandhill's migration,
the Chickadee's survival
the Yellow Finch's summer return.

I believe in the plants,
the fern uncoiling,
the bud revealing,
the garden's scent-surprise.

I believe in stars,
planets,
constellations
and the weather satellite's blinking.

I believe in silence,
the lighting of candles,
gazing without thoughts
and silence again.

I believe in the variety of persons,
efforts of non-violence,
gifts of compassion
and every good deed done.

I believe in Bethlehem,
Mary's Maternity,
Jesus' face,
shepherd's witness and angel song.

I believe in Christ's tears and sighs,
his desert hunger,
his bread and wine,
his shroud, bright wounds
and empty tomb.

I believe in Easter morning,
Christ the Gardener's
do not fear;
I believe in Magdalen's running!