a poem for your saturday
Pendant l'élévation, by Anna Boch Idiot Psalm 14 --a psalm of Isaak, sore afraid Μετά φόβου Θεού, πίστεως καί ἀγἀπης, προσέλθετε, Forgive, O Fire, forgive, O Light, the patent, fraught impurity of we who thus presume to open unclean lips, availing now a portal for Your purity. Forgive the chatter of our blithely fearless crowd awaiting Your pure body pretty much the way we stand in any fast-food queue, considering our neighbors' faults, puzzling at those odd few who seem to shiver some as they approach Your wound. Holy One allow that as we near the cup, before the coal is set upon our trembling tongues, before we blithely turn and walk again into our many other failures, allow that we might glimpse, might apprehend something of the fear with which we should attend this sacrifice, for which we shall not ever be found worthy, for which—I gather—we shall never be prepared. Μετά φόβου Θεού, πίστεως καί ἀγἀπης, προσέλθετε -- metáh fóvoo Theoó, p...
