The Clay With No Face...

I have been away for a short while.  Keeping some quiet time for myself…

What I share today is perhaps my first ever attempt at putting my thoughts into some poetic fashion.  Whether one can classify this as a poem, I am not certain…neither am I a qualified poet to even post any opinion on that.

In any case, I took some quiet time to put my thoughts of the moment into this format…which I pray some readers can also relate to…  I do not have a specific title for this original piece of poem, but my first thought would be, The Clay With No Face…

I hope you will find this meaningful for your journey as I have found in mine.

Faces come, faces go,

Rushing here, rushing there,

Scrambling aimlessly, everywhere,

Moulding control over outcomes…over destiny.

Imagine all these faces,

Passing through life,

Often unknown, often in disguise,

Often camouflaged by the noise of life.

Who are these faces…a dilemma, maybe?

Faces of friends, the world so claims,

Present in good and happy times,

Waveringly absent in the darkest hour.

My companionship, they abuse,

My heart, they do not love,

My soul, they seldom care,

Merely passerbys on the journey.

When the hour gets lonely,

When no one bothers to listen,

When no one has time to love,

Simply no one to even care.

The seconds becomes minutes,

The minutes becomes hours,

The hours turn into days,

The days that make life seem so empty.

In a heartbeat, life becomes real,

Loneliness envelopes life,

Life turns into a void of silence,

Every step of the journey…long and winding.

No one wants to understand,

No one wants to know,

No one to truly fill me up,

No more faces that can satisfy.

The skies and the clouds,

The moon and the stars,

The flowers and the birds,

The gentle breeze…the fatherly embrace.

A gentle quiet awareness,

I am the work of God,

This simply cannot change,

The Lord has heard my unspoken cry.

Indeed, now I know,

That faces remain faces,

Unless united in the Lord,

It is the truth, I am reminded.

It is the truth that I have forgotten,

Amongst too many faces,

Amidst too much noise, amidst life's rushing,

Yet, here I am, Lord, found by you again.

Closer and nearer, you come,

To fill this empty void,

Consoling my restless heart,

Nourishing my empty soul.

Simply and quietly,

Only one face, I become aware,

Surrendering to the truth,

The truth that knows no lies,

The truth that fills every inch of my life.

My aimlessness becomes focused,

My journey becomes bearable,

My burden becomes lighter,

I am simply a faceless block of clay,

Into the quiet hands of the potter, I become...his face...

Amen.

Written by Pilgrim

Persevere with Jesus Christ...

As I was perusing through a used books warehouse sale recently, God somehow led me to a 1961 Holland-printed, Canadian-published copy of The Fulton J Sheen, Sunday Missal.  Without any hesitation, I purchased it for a mere equivalent of USD1.50...truly a great blessing from God!

One can never seem to find priceless spiritual books like these anymore, with such wisdom in thinking even from back then...breaking God's word into human understanding and application.  Today, it seems that people do not treasure these spiritual literature anymore...abandoning them...throwing these away...

As documented in the post-synodal apostolic exhortation, Verbum Domini, Pope Benedict XVI stressed that “the world today is often excessively caught up in outward activities and risks losing its bearings.”  How very true these words from the Holy Father...

In any case, glancing through the priceless, almost mint pages, of the Missal, I would like to “multiply” this USD1.50 “investment” and share some of the beautiful excerpts of Bishop Fulton Sheen with all of you - as we move into Pentecost Sunday.  Truly, this saintly man continues to be a living prophet for our time.

“The whole world is dying of hunger.  The East is suffering from hunger of body; the West from hunger of soul.  The words of the Gospel are everlastingly true: “they have nothing to eat.” (Mark 6: 36)


Calvary was only one small place on the earth, a by-way of Jerusalem, Athens and Rome.  But what took place there, the sacrifice of the God-Man, can affect men everywhere in all corners of the earth.


The Mass plants the Cross in a town, in a village, in a mission, in a great cathedral; it draws back the curtains on time and space and makes what happened on Calvary happen here.


On the Cross, our blessed Lord knew how every individual soul in the world would react to his supreme act of love; he knew whether or not we would accept him or reject him.


But no one of us knows how we will react until we are confronted with Christ and his Cross, and see it unrolled on the screen of time.


We can know something of the role we played at Calvary by the way we act at the Mass in the twentieth century (or at this present time) and by the way the Mass helps us to live.


In every Mass, therefore the Cross of Calvary is transplanted into New York, London, Tokyo, Nairobi, Hong Kong (or wherever you may be located): all humanity is taking sides, either sharing in that Redemption or else rejecting it, either being on the Cross with the Victim or beneath it among the executioners.


The Mass is that which makes the Cross visible to every eye; it placards the Cross at all the crossroads of civilization; it brings Calvary so close that even tired feet can make the journey to its sweet embrace; every hand may now reach out to touch its Sacred Burden, and every ear may hear its sweet appeal, for the Mass and the Cross are the same.


This world of ours is full of half-completed Gothic cathedrals, of half-finished lives and half-crucified souls.  Some carry the Cross to Calvary and then abandon it; others are nailed to it and detach themselves before the elevation; others are crucified, but in answer to the challenge of the world, “Come down”, they come down after one hour…two hours…after two hours and fifty-nine minutes, Real Christians are they who persevere unto the end.  Our Lord stayed until he had finished.


So we must stay with the Cross until our lives are finished.


Our human nature is the raw material; our will is the chisel; God’s grace is the energy and the inspiration.


Touching the chisel to our unfinished nature, we first cut off huge chunks of selfishness, then by more delicate chiseling, we dig away smaller bits of egotism until finally only a brush of the hand is needed to bring out the completed masterpiece - a finished man (or woman) made to the image and likeness of the pattern on the Cross.”


We continue to remind ourselves on this journey that it is the work of the Holy Spirit, coupled with the intercession of our Blessed Mother, that truly makes our souls more Christ-like...in the process, bringing about a new Pentecost to transform the world around us...

“Keep your eyes on the crucifix; for Jesus Christ without the cross is a man without a mission, and the cross without Jesus is a burden without a reliever.”

– Bishop Fulton Sheen