A poem during the pandemic

An Acceptable Time*

Lord, help us to find You
waiting in our souls,
when Bread is withheld and
Your Voice falls silent.

In this desert darkness,
may the invisible glow of
Your indwelling Presence
enfold us in hope.

You are not removed,
cannot be kept from us.
Closer than our own selves,
You’re buried in our hearts.

Teach us to keep vigil
with You in the Garden,
to surrender—not my will—
in trust that our tears water

other gardens, a million gardens
that have lain dormant
in our dust.  We submit
to this pruning.

Bring forth a harvest
for Your Church, renew us
in the faith that God is with us:
We cannot be shaken.*

*Title taken from Isaiah 49:8 (Douay-Rheims and KJV--rendered in modern translations as "a time of favor").  The last lines allude to Psalm 46/45, v. 5  "God is in the midst of her, she shall not be moved".

--Sr. Petra