The Sower

Inspired by the poetry of both Lifespark and Fr. Tobias, I went browsing through some of my own, humbler, fare... where I found this poem, written November 14, 2005. It was written in response to a homily given by my priest and spiritual father on the Parable of the Sower.

The Sower

The Great Sower was sowing the seed of His Word
On the path and the pasture for He was astute:
For He knew, though four types of men's hearts had Him heard,
Only one of the four would bear spiritual fruit.

The first man, his poor heart was a pathway to sin,
And so though he had heard, his hard heart was too soured -
He rejected the Word, and pride trampled it in
And both he and all hope were by Satan devoured.

But the second excitedly welcomed his God...
As he grew in the Church he was putting down roots,
But some crises, like rocks, would make shallow his sod,
So he withered away ere he bore any fruits.

The third man also turned to his God when he heard
And he grew like a weed until swallowed by tares,
Which, un-rooted, soon choked out the growth of the third
By the thorns of his passions, his wealth, and his cares.

And the last also grew from the Sower's good seeds,
But desiring some fruit, from the others he learned:
And by tilling his heart and up-rooting the weeds
He was gathered to God when the others were burned.

So too we must determine the gardens we grow:
To be open to Christ we must soften our hearts,
We must dig them out deep lest we die from our woe,
And keep pulling up tares, 'til our fruit season starts.

- V.

Paschal Impressions

Procession

Ringing the bell, long, vigorously. Tired arms, thinking "Christ is risen! Indeed He is risen!" with every toll of the bell.

E telling me, excitedly, the baby was moving at "Christ is Risen!" before the front doors.

The lights, burning full and bright. A blaze of Paschal glory.


Matins & Liturgy

People, more people. A surge, steady like time, ticking towards the Holy Eucharist.

"As many as have been baptized into Christ, have put on Christ. Alleluia!"

E telling me that our baby was moving really vigorously during the baptismal hymn - kicking wildly or dancing maybe. "The baby is looking forward to their baptism as much as I am," she says, her eyes aglow, her hands caressing her pregnant belly.

The angel cried to the Lady full of Grace: "Rejoice, rejoice O ye Virgin! Again, I say rejoice! Your Son is risen from His three days in the tomb. With Himself He has raised all the dead. Rejoice, rejoice, O ye people. Shine, shine, shine O New Jerusalem! The Glory of the Lord has shone on you! Exult now and be glad, O Zion! Be radiant, O Pure Theotokos, in the Resurrection, the Resurrection of your Son!"

The joy of the Paschal Theotokion, my favourite hymn of the liturgical year. The bell singing out with us as we proclaim the words "Shine, shine, shine".

Taking comfort in the words of St. John Chrysostom, who urges all who have come to the feast not to fear, whether arriving in the first hour or in the eleventh.

Shouting back the refrain:

Indeed He is risen!
Il est vraiment résuscité!
Voistinnu voskrese!
Alithos anesti!

Indeed, Christ is risen!


Blessing of the Baskets

And then, the meat, the cheese, the alcohol. Father going about, splashing us from his hyssop aspergillum. Spontaneous sharing from the baskets. Tired, happy faces.

A general exodus, and then, a tumble towards bed and sleep.

Joyous Pascha!

- V.