CAUSE OF OUR JOY

CAUSE OF OUR JOY

(Concerning Seven other Sorrows)

They said: "He has a devil!" Jesus - whom you

had known announceD by angel, had heard sung

by sky-flung host of angels on that night

in Bethlehem, and would hear told by angels:

"Risen! He is risen. Not here, He!"

                                                                          It was the crushed grape of your heart 

                                                  first ran our wine of joy.

Or when familiar brow of hill grew furrowed

to knolls of anguish that men should lay claim

on nature's loyal innocence to cast Him

over and down, lest sound of truth be heard

by townsmen of Him, traitorous cousinry,

                                                                          It was the crushed grape of your heart 

                                                  first ran our wine of joy.

Counted over and over in your loving

were twelve, a dozen in solicitude

of you for them; food, sandals, lodging rest.

before the Supper was not intuition

already, Mother, yours? One shall betray Him.

                                                                          It was the crushed grape of your heart 

                                                  first ran our wine of joy.

What sword of sorrow pierced your listening love,

to hear Him cry: "I thirst" who once had nursed Him

with substance of yourself? What now to give

save substance of your willing of your Cross-stand

improvident but for love's partnering.

                                                                          It was the crushed grape of your heart 

                                                  first ran our wine of joy.

"Let Him come down! He cannot save himself!"

How cruel drumbeats on your memory,

O Mother of many liftings to your breast

a Child too small to save himself from falling,

grown now to cross's hoisting past your arms.

                                                                          It was the crushed grape of your heart 

                                                  first ran our wine of joy.

That was the whole world's weeping face laid in your

Pieta'-ed lap when Peter's face went down

into your lap of mercy and you were

first made Queen of Confessors to first pope

needing your healing hand on memory.

                                                                          It was the crushed grape of your heart 

                                                  first ran our wine of joy.

We search our joy and find its price too high.

Wine without treading down's the drink we seek,

and all in vain unless you teach us, Mother:

                                                                          It was the crushed grape of your heart 

                                first ran our wine of joy.

Mother M Francis PCC

Summon Spirit's Cry. San Fancisco:Ignatius Press.

(c) 1996. Mother M Francis PCC. All rights reserved. 

Used with permission

From 'A Silence full of bells'