My Old Elm




Above my head

The tall wych elm

Sheds its little packets of seed.

Carefully packaged one-by-one in a gentle transparent sheath.



Down they come

By the thousand

Blown by the wind of June.



Why such ridiculous abundance?

Is it simply a generous

And boastful affluence?

Does it know something that I do not?

Is it a sign of fearfulness for what maybe to come?



Should I too cease numbering my grandchildren

With such pride?

And maybe substitute anxiety in its stead?

Priesthood

We are each one of us sharers in the priestly office of Jesus Christ through  incorporation into the Body of Christ through our Baptism and Confirmation. How we exercise that priesthood may perhaps be determined by our circumstances and lifestyle. As Paul suggested, some by teaching in schools or pulpit or College, some by our community concern as carers, social workers, visitors of the sick and housebound, some by our capacity for political action as community leaders,etc, etc. Priestliness should not be manifested by our 'religious persona', but rather by our love and service of our fellow human beings. 'Professional' clergy should be anathema to the Ecclesia. Leaders should emerge from our local communities by their capacity for goodness, gentleness and capacity for service and wisdom and their drawing of all into unity.The very notion of 'hierarchy' is nowhere to be found in the example and teaching of Jesus.

Honeysuckle




Bends round and over

The rusty archway.

Holds the metal framework up in its embrace,

Tickles my scalp

As I bend to pass.

Tendrills reach up to the sky.

Promise of bud, of flower

And perfume.

Such perfume!



For what

Does it so anxiously reach?



Is it a higher plane?

Support?

Fulfilment?

Escape?

An old man.

How's things, old sod, at eighty two?






Pain without,

Joy within.

Head bent,

Shuffle below.

Sorrow for the past,

Hope for what's to come.

So much still to enjoy,

Just listening,

Just looking,

Just loving,

Just being.