Bless You, O God

Sacred Heart ~ The Church of My Baptism ~ The Bronx, New York

The Church celebrates Jesus' Conception in March, Mary's Conception in December, St. John the Baptist's Conception in September.  Do we ever thank God for our own conception - when God imagined us into existence? Which thought has led me to other gratitudes.

~ ~ ~ 

Bless you, O God, for the May night of my conception.
 Was that the night an angel was assigned to my care?

Bless you, O God, for the early Sunday morning of my birth.
  And mother said: "Stephen, you popped out into the arms of a nun
  in time for the first Mass."

Bless you, O God, for my mother's decision to name me Stephen Peter.
  And when the Irish Matriarch,
  the Irish Aunt and
  the Irish cousin said,
  "Better Peter Stephen,"
  the young mother leaned in and said,
  "Thank you all the same, but Stephen Peter will do just fine."

Bless you, O God, for the February afternoon of my Bronx Baptism.
  And my return to that font as a young priest to thank
  the good Jesus for our meeting in the water.

Bless you, O God, for the Spring Saturday of my First Communion.
  And the old pastor wore a chasuble lustered like pearl
  with a painting of the Virgin Mary on the back
  where the orphry-d crossbeams intersect.

Bless you, O God, for the Autumn night of my priesthood ordination.
  And the five Puerto Rican lunch ladies who ran the cafeteria
  in the school where I taught before seminary,
  took the Long Island Railroad out from Manhattan
  to pray with us that night.

And Bless you, O God,
  for this moment graced,
  sitting in the car,
  waiting for a friend to come out from the doctor's office -
  for the summer trees swaying at the edge of the asphalt,
  for the sequence of green and red lights regulating traffic,
  for the high clouds gathering - dark and flat bottomed,
  for the road crew with their back-up-beeping truck.

Leaning into Life

I tried unsuccessfully to contact Terry Sohl, the nature photographer who took this photo of the dear mother American Goldfinch sitting on her well-hidden nest. More of his sensitive and life-appreciating pictures can be found online. I expect he'd be glad for our checking in on his website.

There is a smaller-than-a-sparrow female American Goldfinch sitting on her nest holding four light blue, lightly speckled eggs, way out back at the margin where the garden transitions to woodland. She built the well-engineered wonder-nest not in a tree, but among the long leaves of clustered red/yellow striped day lilies. I came across the nest early one morning when dead-heading (cutting off yesterday's spent flowers). She darted out from the concealing leaves in bouncy, undulating flight, like a threaded needle working a canvas. 

Then it rained big heavy storms for a few days, and I worried that she and her unhatched family would be washed out. When, like Noah, departing the ark to assess the damage after the forty day deluge, I discovered her sitting there keeping the egg temperature just right, she looked up at me as if to say, "Oh, it's  you again - everything's okay, go and have your tea and toast." 

Then last night a nearby summer kids camp blew up thirty thousand dollars worth of fireworks, and the incessant bombing shook the house, and I grieved from my bed for the two-month-old spotted fawns and the birds, which I imagined falling dead out of the trees, and that surely the frenzied goldfinch mother would abandon her nest in the dark for grief and confusion. But at first light today she was there still, seemingly sane and intent on bringing her chicks to hatch. 


Bless God, seed eating
late nester
of grasses,
spider web
and bark strip.

Bless God, day lily homesteader,
back-dropped with
woodland shadow,
ferns,
wild raspberry
and weedy thicket.

Bless God, egg minding mother,
having changed into your summer dress
of olive green
and white flash,
smartly accessorized,
soft,
yellow-washed
face and throat. 

Bless God, heat wave beater,
thunder storm navigator,
fireworks survivor,
enemy distractor...
that I would lean into living too.

Intercessions ~ Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Today is the Feast of St. John Vianney,/ the patron saint of parish priests./ We pray for Pope Francis/ who is a parish priest for the world./ We ask healing for broken priests,/ renewal for burned out priests./ Strength and hope for sick or discouraged priests./ We pray to the Lord.

Tuesday and Friday this week recall the dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki,/ Japan/ killing many thousands/ and injuring untold numbers of people./ However we might feel justified,/ we ask forgiveness for the awfulness of war,/ and pray for this never to happen again./ We pray to the Lord.

God calls,/ a fool,/ the rich man with the bursting storage barns,/ who thinks of life as synonymous with possessions and material success./ We pray to be freed of greed,/ acquisitiveness and superficial living./ We pray to the Lord.

We pray for the President of the United States,/ our Congress,/ and those in leadership everywhere./ Healed of vanity and blame,/ may they seek the wisdom of God's way of loving service./ We pray to the Lord.

Three people were killed this week at a California summer fair./ The victims are six,/ thirteen and twenty-five years old./ Twelve people were injured./ It is the 248th mass shooting in our nation  this year./ May God forgive our country's gun lust,/ and cover our shame before the world./ We pray to the Lord.

For our families and friends,/ the sick,/ the fragile,/ the ones working two or three jobs,/ the ones who are struggling to hold on,/ the ones whose relationships are strained or fractured,/ for those who are inwardly imprisoned in bitterness./ We pray to the Lord.