Her son Jesus taught a story of prayer that day –
a proud man upon the temple step to say
how good he was, how long his fast …
while hidden in the darker temple corner
stood a penitent, feeling like a mourner.
Which of these did Jesus know could be
finding His love and care eternally?
Who is His mother, as the Fast begins for all,
for God is “supporting all who fall”?
Had God heard her quiet prayer, hidden in a temple gown?
“Raising up all who are bowed down.” (Psalm 145: 14)
Her song to Elizabeth rings on our doubtful ears:
“I extol you, my God and King;” no fears …
“I bless your name forever,” (Psalm 145: 1-2) upon her tender heart.
And so God heeded lowly pleas, the eschaton at start.
For me I sense the darkening time, days fleeting like smoke …
“my bones burning as in a fire,” (Psalm 102: 4) my soul choked
with mem’ries of the time forsaking Him, thrown down
from happiness, sitting in self, lifted up failing and alone.
Was it Christ who walked among the men aflame,
in Nebuchadnezzar’s furnace of fame?
Is it His mother who waits and finds us now,
so broken, so needy in our Lent … learning how
to find awe in night sky; discovering inner self healed
as we pray … mercy planted for Spring’s new field?