The radiance of a person is not just physical,
But the source of their soul,
sometimes carefully concealed,
with false airs and adornments.
Needs to be released, like lungs seeking oxygen.
“With their patience worn out by the journey,”
Book of Numbers
Organ blasts drown all worldly noise,
Even Boston traffic on Washington Street.
Couples coupled arm-by-arm, somehow understanding they are more than two,
Enter the Cathedral past a victim of clergy sin. Unknowing.
We are Catholic this morning.
Suits and dresses, princely Roman robes, pomp and circumstance, but bonnets few.
The Easter aria soaks the ceilings from ancient times,
Raining exquisite Latin notes, on unprotected ears below,
Words misunderstood by minds but loved by each heart single-mindedly.
Loudly pronounce we are Catholic.
Reverence, power, beauty abound,
The Cross is dwarfed in this great glorious sanctuary,
Where only His presence on Easter morning, Is felt like life itself,
New air inflates lungs with life, teasing the Organ gasping to support us.
Quietly we pronounce we are Catholic.
I am returned to you, rejoice in my presence.
He calls out in every way.
Signs abound, baptismal remembrances, “peace be with you,” “Happy Easter”,
Securely … The Lord and the Eucharist is with you today. Forevermore.
We are Catholic and we are renewed.
Copyright 2102 Michael J. Cunningham
Daily prayers and meditations 