Poets,
Squeeze poetry in wherever you can! For me in this transition time, I¹ve
done as much as I can for the Annual Meeting, the new priest-in-charge moves
into the Rectory on Monday, her first Sunday is Feb. 21st and we have had a
few other things to do in the meantime!
You, however, have been working thanks be to God! Merrill Gonzales has
written a psalm and gives thanks for the mercy and grace afforded her this
past year. Aldon Hynes is holding true to submitting a poem for publication
once a month. Carol Christoffers has noticed what happens to the Christmas
trees that so quickly are thrown to the curb. Brenda Dlugoleski, moved by
her co-worker¹s grief over having to put down a beloved Rottweiler, penned
a poem in which you will really get to know Brody. Kathy Carle, on this day
of snow flurries, cooked us up a pot of soup in a narrative and poetic
style. Lastly, I share the experience of what those two words, "-in-Charge"
added to my title of Senior Warden has meant since May. Read it if you
dare!
Squeeze the poetry in, take time to read it and keep writing!
Barbara A. Campbell
Connecticut¹s Diocesan Poet
CHRISTMAS PSALM
by Merrill Gonzales
St. Paul's, Plainfield
At Christmas time
We hear the angel
Voices of our friends
Ring out in heavenly
Mercy, love and joy.
The gift of heart music
At this time of year
A light
At the darkest time,
A balm
For our everydays.
My heart joins in
With gratitude
For the loving GOD
Who comes to us.
My prayer flies
On those angel wings
With a newborn trust
In the infant CHRIST+.
*********************
To Seek the Unexpected
by Aldon Hynes
Grace and St. Peter's, Hamden
Perhaps it should be
my resolution
for the New Year
or even
my mantra
for the next twelve months.
To seek the unexpected.
Maybe, it will even become
a poem.
To seek the unexpected.
Like going alone
to an unknown museum
exhibiting
an unknown artist
and finding a new love
instead of running with the crowd
at the big museum
past well known paintings
at their blockbuster
exhibition.
or taking the backroads to work,
less direct,
less traffic,
slower,
but worth it
for the different horizons.
This evening I went to church.
It wasn't a high holy day
or Christmas or Easter.
It wasn't even Sunday.
It was less than a week
after New Years,
when the usual resolutions
start wearing thin
and your thinking of taking down
the Christmas decorations.
Epiphany.
seeking the unexpected.
What was it like
for the Magi
traveling to a different country
and finding the new ruler
in an unexpected place?
What was it like
for Mary
having strangers visit
after her unexpected
and long expected
labor?
What would it be like
singing the familiar hymns
praying the familiar prayers
with a small group of faithful
on a weeknight?
The one thing
about seeking the unexpected
is that you usually find it
and it is wonderful.
------------------------------------------------
Evergreen Transformed
by Carol Christoffers
St Andrew's Meriden
Once proudly growing in the forest bathed in star's
pure light
Now tossed aside in the street in the midst of urban
blight
Once proud to be chosen carefully
To be a family¹s cherished Christmas tree
Stripped now of shiny decoration
No longer the center of celebration
Star¹s bright light shines upon this tree
God¹s small creatures gather together to see
A transformation taking place
Refuge from winter in this space
Useful now- no longer cast away, helping creatures
live
Proudly this tree offers its branches. It still has
love to give
A lesson can be learned from this brave tree
Hope is still there for all to see
Look to the light of the star hovering near
When least expected transformation will appear
*******************
Good Night Brody
by Brenda Dlugoleski
St. Mark¹s, New Britain
Farewell my friend
Our walk has ended.
It's best you rest
In time suspended
Where if you want
You'll chase a rabbit,
Or tree a cat,
And while you're at it,
Roll in the dirt
And shake off the dust;
Jump in a stream
And frighten the ducks.
Or, if you choose,
You'll lie in the shade,
Catching a nap
From all of that play.
Day turns to night -
Twinkling stars above.
Hear us whisper;
We send you our love.
Good night, good Brody.
******************
by Kathy Carle
St. Mark's, New Britain
My spirituality is a pot of soup which was started
with a good stock of strong New England Congregationalism:
it was brewed by farmers and entrepreneurs.
A plain variety, a traditional one, it didn¹t have the seasoning
of liturgy nor the politics of the Church of England. It eschewed
the sophistication and trappings of power in favor of simplicity.
No kneelers were we, and some like my mother, were Old Testament
Christians. Her God wasn¹t about forgiving you whenever you asked.
More struggle and penance were needed.
An old fashioned soup sat at the back of the stove, and depended on the
addition of more ingredients for its taste and power. Shaken in were the
spices of adolescence, rebellion, and one non-traditional grandmother. In
winter, the mistress of the house would put the pot out in the cold to firm
it up. Just so, I went through Œthe middle years¹ working to put my
husband through medical school and raising two boys. We didn¹t have a church
tradition in those years, until I moved back to Madison, CT as a single
mother.
It was time to bring the pot to a boil, which happened when my new husband
took our family to central Connecticut, where I entered an Episcopal church
for the first time; bareheaded, unrepentant. I did succumb to its grace and
attitude of forgiveness: I became a committed Episcopalian. What does it
mean, to 'let your light shine', or to let your music ring out? I sang in
the choir for 19 years. Now I make music another way, by writing. I believe
we let our lights shine, for a starter, when we make ourselves known to each
other. Writing poetry is the way I make myself known to others. One of the
most beautiful parts of the liturgy for me, in our prayer book, is:
"Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this table for pardon only and
not for renewal, for solace only and not for strength.² It calls me to
action: it rouses my energy, commitment and passion for contributing.
*****************
TRANSITION MATTERS, a poem
by Barbara A. Campbell
Connecticut¹s Diocesan Poet
January 2016
As a long time Senior Warden,
I knew a few strange things
about the parish.
I knew a deer had come into the Courtyard
and crashed through the glass door
to get IN to the church.
(Did I say we are a downtown city church?
Well, we are.)
I knew a squirrel
had come in a second storey window
and was eating inside
on the lunch table.
(Why not? It's where we eat!)
I knew one day a shower cap
had been found
on the cross on the high altar.
The theology of that we are still pondering.
And then those two hyphenated words
-in-Charge
were added to my title.
Everything became more so.
Sunday mornings equal connections time.
EMTs took a 7:45er to the hospital -
connect with Pastoral Care.
Ministers of Communion on board?
New ushers counting the house
AFTER Church School children
and teachers join the service?
Who¹s doing the Coffee Hour cake
for next week¹s baptisms
and how do we spell the names?
How did the tour of the Rectory go
with the candidate and Property Chair?
When can Personnel Committee meet?
And in the middle of all that,
the fervent prayer that
The Blood of Christ
IS the Cup of Salvation!
In the days of naivete
a Senior Warden might think
a parish is
a place of stained glass beauty,
a place of peace and quiet reflection
a place of glorious organ music
and meaningful liturgy
but no "-in-Charge" thinks that!
I answer my phone at home.
Without introducing herself, a woman asks,
"When will the envelopes be out?"
That broke my concentration
on watering the plants and doing laundry!
Realizing she thought I was the Church Office,
I responded, "First Sunday of the new year"
and she hung up.
On my answer machine,
a woman did identify herself
but after listening three times,
I could not make out the name.
"When are you going to deliver
food to my house? The Junior Warden
said he would and he hasn't."
I knew the same message
was on the Junior Warden¹s voice mail.
I knew he had NOT spoken with her.
Downstairs in the Parish House
I heard very loud marching band music.
A drummer had made a reservation
to practice his drumming for one hour.
There was the morning
a fight rolled down the hill
from Walnut Hill Park
across West Main St
into our front yard
resulting in simultaneous 911 calls
from the Church Office
the lawyer's office
and the library.
The bloodied credit card found in the church parking lot
was given to the police.
There had long been a drain problem
in the kitchen.
A rectangle cut out of the floor
revealed a disgusting sight that dictated
two stoves, a dishwasher, refrigerator and
stainless steel table be moved out, then
the floor jackhammered (That was impressive!)
And all through this "no kitchen" time
September through January,
Thursday Morning Mingle carried on.
Fifty to eighty to one hundred people
who have to leave homeless shelters
at 7 am every morning
were kept warm, surrounded by community and served
coffee, orange juice, French toast,
pancakes or egg sandwiches.
In the midst of all this,
the decision is made.
All five signatures are on the Letter of Agreement.
The announcement in two parishes is timed.
Our expectations have become real,
colored at times by stained glass,
quiet and reflection appreciated,
spirits lifted by music;
and values shifted.
Relationships have become central.
We work with people who have names and stories,
not "the homeless."
We are helped by those storied and named people.
We stand by as things go wrong.
We share their joy as they move
into apartments of their own.
We greet them as they come back,
feeling better about themselves.
We minister with,
not to,
not on behalf of,
not for
but with...and do so as part of
a now counter culture
intent on being quick to listen,
doers of the word
affirming with James that
God is here and now
and simply,
loves all.
