A Poem and a Proposal

It has been quite some time - over a year, in fact - since my last blog entry. I have almost no excuses for this, and even if I did I doubt you would care to hear them. No one likes excuses anyway.

This past July, however, I was legitimately occupied and without much technological access, for I was on a pilgrimage in Italy (Rome, the Rieti Valley, and Assisi) in preparation for solemn profession of vows. I don't know if I ever made that clear in a previous post, but yes, I am a vowed religious -- a Franciscan friar to be exact.

Anyway, I could regale you all with tales from my time in Italy - there was certainly fruit gleaned from it that could be shared - but instead I will simply post a poem I wrote on location that pretty much sums up my experience. I hope you like it, because it's about all I have to offer in over a year.

Pilgrimage 2015

Pilgrims

Packed, praying

And planting their feet

In Roman streets

That welcome with heat.

Every edifice

Dominates like a colosseum.

Awesome churches,

Now mostly museums.

But be not bothered,

For over the bustle

Of busy roads full of noise

The saints are whispering

From resting places,

"Listen to messages of hopes and joys."

Rieti is really

A valley so rare,

And praying pilgrims

Enjoy her light-hearted fare.

A saint seeking solace

Would certainly discover

A place here

Gentle, loving,

And moreover

"Buongiorno, buona gente!"

And "Buon Natale!"

The flowered fields seem to cry.

And such a sound

Could draw sweet tears

From a saint's aching eyes.

Ciao, Bello!

The valley of Spoleto

Where even the birds take flight

With joy under wing.

Soft are the rays

Of Brother Sun on your face

And touching

Are the churches' chiming rings.

The pearly mist of morn

Greets Assisi

Perched on a hill,

A place permeated

By the memory

Of saints seeking

God's will.

Though streets be saturated

With shops and distraction,

Never do pilgrims

Lose their attraction

For this city

That hums hymns with holy rhythm.

But now as God's gracious brushstroke

Paints the dusk

Melon, blue, rose, and pink,

A pilgrim is left to wonder and think,

"Thank God for the food!

Wine, truffles, cappuccinos.

Praise God for the journeys,

These sacred caminos.

It's a blessing to walk

With these fellow pelligrinos."

Grateful is the pilgrim,

For now he or she knows

That paths may lead to bells

But sometimes to crosses,

But there's everything to gain

In the midst of losses.

And when the valley is veiled

By Umbria's starry sky,

This peaceful place

Where a saint deigned to die,

A pilgrim,

Forever changed,

Breathes in and sighs

In gratitude and sadness

A bitter-sweet good-bye.

                                         -- Ian B.

So if you've read this far, I hope you enjoyed the poem. And if you liked the poem, let me know in your comments. There are a few more from that pilgrimage I am willing to post.

By the way, I am considering beginning a new blog about the Bible. The plan is to present some basic information about the Scriptures that you may have always wondered about, like How was the Bible compiled? Why did the writers borrow so much from other cultures? How do we get Church teachings from the Bible? If some of the stuff in the Bible didn't actually happen, why should I believe what it says?
If this idea is appealing to you, PLEASE (I beg you even) let me know. And if you have any questions about Sacred Scripture that you have always wondered about, post them in the comments. I may not be able to answer them in the potential blog, but I will at least have a clearer idea about what it is you want to know.