Evensong

14 February, 2018 4:23 PM

Early and alone in the Anglican cathedral, listening to the University of King’s College chapel choir practicing for Ash Wednesday Evensong.  Their sound nearly leaves me aching…with longing…with beauty…

I always seem to think of the solar system when I listen to them…so many pieces moving, each in an orbit and the orbits holding each other in their elliptical dances…aural choreography with cosmic effect.

Those hanging notes…the ones that linger afterward…augh.  They reach my ear... they draw me to themselves in unavoidable absolute captivation…I feel myself lifting with the sound and know the desire to be taken up by the sound…longing, somehow, to go to or give myself over to, the place where the hanging notes rise because that…that, is where the words of poetry have substance and beauty written into their syllables…it is a space within the sweep of the Muse’s diaphanous shawl, within the sigh of the Spirit...

It is a place of alone-together, of intimate concentration, of divine vulnerability…a harmony of waves, notes, giving light to the Word that lies within all that God has brought into being.

Ash Wednesday, 2018: And by that I mean

For Ash Wednesday, 2018…

And by that I mean

It feels like I need space when I want to praise you

and by praise you I mean be with you,

close enough to you to reach out and touch the hem

of beauty, glory, full humanity, humble divinity;

touch the hem of the cloth that lays

upon the wounds of the difficult honor of Love.

I need space when I draw near to you

because there is so much in me that wants to run

and so much in me that wants not just to draw near but also

to be seen, to be touched, to feel, to

show you my wounds and be grounded in your wholeness.

And by grounded I mean free and by free

I mean Death has no hold and Light

shall not be overcome and your Love

is my strength and my salvation and oh,

I am not worthy. Rather, I am

grateful.

I need space when I want to praise you

because how can I bow down and soar

without it?

Kimberly M. King, RSCJ

  

Winter Trees

Winter Trees

I admire the winter-trees

whose branches are threaded

with the contrasting freedom

of cloud and cold blue;

the witness trees,

who wind-dance, who pray,

in offering and petition

with plain-woven yearning.

Kimberly M. King, RSCJ