Pharisees

This is not a poem, but a meditation and an indictment.

I have a friend who is dying. She is a lifelong Roman Catholic, and a long-time member of the same parish. She does not want to see her priest. She does not want to talk to any member of the Catholic clergy or religious orders.

Be ashamed, oh Church! You are rejected entirely by a faith-filled member in her hour of greatest need.

Why? I believe it is the result of church teachings about the "sanctity of life" -- meaning against euthanasia. It is also the result of the recent scandals in the Roman Catholic church (especially here in Boston archdiocese) of child abuse. The hierarchy tolerated child abuse by priests and helped to cover it up and perpetuate the abuse. I suppose the rationale was that it was OK because the priest pedophiles were not sinning with women.

I have wondered many times that the words of the gospels did not burn in the mouth of the reader priest when they got to the parts where Jesus chastises the pharisees for their hypocrisy and laying on layity rules and obligations they do not keep themselves. O bitterness.

Transubstantiation

Transubstantiation
Betsy McKenzie

Not only bread and wine;
There is some miracle
By which sweat and tears,
The more mundane pains and sorrows
Of everyday people who share in Christ’s
Crucifixion,
Are transformed.
Properly transubstantiated,
Our griefs and deprivations
Lift us up, move us onto a higher plane.
Raised high, like our Lord,
We spread our arms, and
Prepare to be reborn.
February 18, 2006

Waiting for the Sun


Waiting for the Sun
Betsy McKenzie

All my life, I have awaited the dawn;
Getting up at outlandish hours
Just to see the sunrise.
For a short while, I had a job
As a night foaling watchman.
All night, I sat up in the barns,
Waiting to see if the mares would
Go into to labor that night.
When the sun rose, my shift was over.
How I longed for the sun.
Little mice ran across the floor,
Moving so fast, I could just see
Brown blurs, shooting around by the walls.
Then, the sky would tinge with green,
And barn swallows would take over
From the night flying bats.
Tonight, I am waiting for the dawn,
Like a night watchman,
Counting off the hours,
Longing for the sunrise.

March 13, 2006