Roses and Ashes

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Gather ye Rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.

 Robert Herrick, “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time” 1648

In a rare, but not unprecedented, synchronicity this month, St. Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday will fall on the same day. These two dates last came together in 2018, and they will do it again in 2029. According to the Fayetteville Observer, this convergence seems to happen approximately three times in every one-hundred-years. The Twentieth Century also recorded three occurrences, in 1923, 1934, and 1945. (1)

The origins of our contemporary St. Valentine’s Day celebration are hidden in history. Even Roman Catholic sources record an astounding variety, of what can perhaps best be regarded as legends. He may have been a priest, a bishop, and/or a physician. It’s unclear whether the stories that have been combined under this saint’s name include the life one man, or the lives of two.

There is some evidence that, on an actual occasion, a prisoner named Valentine left a letter for his jailer’s daughter signed, “from your Valentine.” He’s said to have healed the child of her blindness; we all prefer to believe he did. He may well have converted her to Christianity. He might have converted her father, too. Plausible evidence does exist that a man named Valentine was imprisoned and martyred for his Christian faith. Other tales suggest that the little girl, and possibly her father, died with him. (2)

One fact is clear, that the official liturgical calendar of the United States makes no reference to a saint’s feast on February 14. On the USCCB website, it’s marked only with a purple dot indicating a day of Lent. There is no alternate reading for a saint’s feast day. (3)

Another mystery is how a saint, whom most legends report died as a martyr for his Faith, came to be a symbol of chocolate, flowers, and every other sort of indulgent romantic concupiscence.

Ash Wednesday, on the other hand, is a reminder of the death we all will experience. The Latin counsel memento mori, “remember you will die,” dates back to the ancient Greek philosopher Socrates, from sometime before his death in 399 B.C. (4).

The use of ashes as a symbol of penance and anointing for death by the Hebrews is documented in the Old Testament books of Esther 4:1, 484-465 B.C.; Job 42:6, 700-500 B.C.; Daniel 9:3, circa 550 B.C.; and Jonah 3:5-6, circa 500 B.C. (5)

Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale, Illustration from The Book of Old English Songs and Ballads, Circa 1920; Public
domain, via Wikimedia Commons

A solemn recognition of Ash Wednesday has been practiced since the earliest days of Christianity. The words, “For you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” from Genesis 3:19 (6), have been spoken through millennia in both the Eastern and Roman Catholic churches. They are still used for Ash Wednesday services in many Protestant churches today, as well. 

But the question remains. What meaning can we discern from this mysterious union of love with death, that seems to appear as a trinity in multiple centuries?

For one answer, we might turn again to scripture, and discover that Song of Songs is the only one of three writings classified by biblical scholars as ‘Wisdom books’ that appears in Protestant bibles. Our Catholic Bibles contain all three, with the Book of Wisdom and the Book of Sirach included (7). Here is another trinity.

The Song, also called Canticle of Canticles, is a romantic poem that evokes all the sensual joys of earthly lovers, as metaphors that describe God’s desirous love for us. In Christian churches it is read as allegory (8). The determination of the bride to reach her lover, and the strength of their bond, represent the Sacrament of Matrimony on earth and Christ’s love for His Bride, the Church, in eternity.

When the cross of ashes, death, and dust is marked on our foreheads again this year — and the day wavers from joy, to penance, and grief — may we remember the powerful lover who awaits us, and continue to sing the Canticle:

“… Set me as a seal upon your heart,

as a seal upon your arm;

For Love is strong as Death …

Deep waters cannot quench love,

nor rivers sweep it away …

 … You who dwell in the gardens,

my companions are listening for your voice–

let me hear it!

Swiftly, my lover,

be like a gazelle or a young stag

upon the mountain of spices.”

Song (Cant.) 8:6-7, 13-14 (9)

John William Waterhouse, Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May; 1909, Public domain, via Wikimedia
Commons.

© Copyright 2024 by Margaret King Zacharias

Featured Photo: John William Waterhouse, Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May,1908, Public domain, via
Wikimedia Commons.
Footnotes for Roses and Ashes and Sources for Further Reading
  1. https://www.fayobserver.com/story/news/live-wire/2018/02/06/live-wire-when-was-last-time-ash-wednesday-and-valentines-day-were-same-date/15307391007/#
  1. For a few different perspectives, see:
https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/will-the-real-st-valentine-please-stand-up
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Saint-Valentine
https://www.catholiceducation.org/en/culture/catholic-contributions/history-of-st-valentine.html
  1. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/021424.cfm
  2. https://dailystoic.com/what-is-memento-mori/#:~:text=Memento%20Mori%20—%20(Latin%3A%20remember,but%20dying%20and%20being%20dead.”
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Socrates
  1. https://catholicstraightanswers.com/what-are-the-origins-of-ash-wednesday-and-the-use-of-ashes/
  1. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/genesis/3
  1. https://www.artesianministries.org/bible-study/why-are-catholic-and-protestant-bibles-different/
  1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Song_of_Songs
9. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/songofsongs/8

A Poem, an Ornament, and a Choice

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A Poem, an Ornament, and a Choice

Even though it is now a few weeks since the official end of the Christmas season (with the exception of those who close out Christmas with the celebration of Candlemas), I still have one ornament up. This particular ornament, called “Snowy Woods,” is always the last one to be packed away, and every year it makes the short journey from the Christmas tree downstairs to the family prayer space, upstairs. It hangs in silence until the end of the month, inviting reflection, contemplation, and most importantly, it asks a single question as we begin the liturgical cycle again: Which path will we choose to follow this year?

The ornament is quite simple and is made of glass, surrounded by a metal frame. A snowy scene is etched on both sides of the glass; two deer walking apart yet aware of each other, in a wintery wood. Every time I look at it, Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken,” springs to mind.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost (1915)

(1) Two roads diverged in a yellow woods

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

(2) To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

(3) And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black,

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

(4) I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

This “Snowy Woods” ornament is a snapshot of the meaning the poem is getting at – how our choices affect our lives. In the ornament, the adult deer is looking back, pausing in mid-step. Has he heard a noise that caused fear? Or is he just taking a breather before continuing the way? Is the fawn following or leading? It all has to do with perspective.

 A snowy scene is etched on both sides of the glass; two deer walking apart yet aware of each other, in a wintery wood. 

When the ornament is held with the adult deer facing you, it seems as if the deer is looking back, over his shoulder. The shadowy fawn in the background appears to be watching and waiting for the adult deer to make a decision. But turn the ornament around and the positions are reversed. The adult is no longer looking over his shoulder but is gazing into the shadowy world at the small fawn. His steps and his gaze are very much focused on the small deer. The fawn, on the other hand, is looking out, away towards something outside of our vision. Both positions are telling. The fawn waits for the adult deer to make his decision, to take the path “less traveled by,” even though the path that the deer will take is set out by the fawn. The paradox of Christianity.

The adult deer is a perfect example of a Christian. He is solid. He is not shadowy or vague, but entirely painted in. His hooves are firmly rooted on the ground, even being entirely covered by the heavy snow. He is part of the physical, visible world we all live in. He is concerned with the daily struggles of life, poised to flee or fight, while wrestling with the heavy snowfall, the daily crosses of his world. While he is engaged, he is being watched by a small, shadowy figure, a guiding spirit who assists and guides his steps. This spirit might be an angel or even a figure of Jesus himself, always just out of sight, but somehow his presence is felt. The fawn, not the adult, knows the way through the snowy woods. It’s eyes are on something else, something higher and distant, away out of time and space. Unlike the solid white adult deer, the fawn is almost transparent, pointing to a spiritual, unseen aspect.

The two deer in this ornament are in a profound relationship, despite the fact that they are on two different levels. They remind us that no matter what path is chosen, the traveler will not remain in the crossroads. A choice, consciously or not, is always made. St. Catherine of Siena talks about this in her book Dialogue. She writes that “as long as you are pilgrims in this life you are capable of growing and should grow. Those who are not growing are by that very fact going backward.”

Each year, this simple little ornament strikes a chord with me. After all the decorations are done and we are looking forward, preparing to set out again, it beckons and asks, “What path will you follow this year? And will you walk it with Me?”

Photos courtesy of Sarah Pedrozo.

*This ornament was designed by Hallmark artist Robert Hurlburt and is part of the Elegant Ornaments Collection, a group of ornaments often based on archived Hallmark greeting cards.

 

What is the Rosary?

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What is the Rosary?

October is the Month of the Rosary, and many authors have already written insightful and inspiring articles explaining and promoting it. We know the rosary is a tremendous tool, and that it also has many positive physiological benefits besides the more obvious spiritual ones.

But this October, I thought I’d try my hand at something a little different, namely a poem about the rosary.  Here it is, in three short verses.

 

What is the Rosary?

A rosary’s a ladder;

It goes up and down.

Connects us to Heaven,

 

Through Mary, on the ground.

Through the life of our Lord,

We travel anew.

By His death, we’re forgiven;

The covenant renewed.

 

By the work of the Church,

We two are made one.

Now our prayers are hers,

‘till God’s kingdom comes.

 

© Copyright 2023 by Sarah Pedrozo

Featured Image: iStock-Mary-statue-in-blue-with-rosary-formatted.jpg

Refuge For This Refugee

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Refuge for this refugee

After years of refugee life, my niece-in-law is finally finding refuge with us in the United States. She trekked through the mountains in northwestern Iran to Turkey over a decade ago, and will arrive here this week. Hers is one story among millions who suffer through such storms.  She recently shared a couple of passages that sustained her in dark times:

“For I the Lord do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, have not perished.” Malachi 3:6

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”  Psalm 147:3

While I have never experienced the dire circumstances of displaced refugees, I have sought refuge from life many times.  I believe everyone has.  Even the apostles, when fearful of capsizing in the middle of a huge storm, sought refuge by waking Jesus in the boat. But I didn’t always turn to Jesus for calm in the storm, I mostly turned to food for comfort.

It took more than fifty years for me to internalize that my true source of comfort is as close as Jesus was to his disciples in the storm.  These days His words and sacraments are more consoling than any other food, and the more I immerse myself in His word, the less worldly refuge I seek. My niece learned this at a much younger age than me.

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

Knowing even a fraction of what my niece and others have been through as refugees makes me thankful for my own small crosses and grateful for such a loving, gentle savior.  Today’s gospel passage is all the rescue I need today – I just need to remember to actively reach out and act according to His Word.

The poem which follows was a first step to acknowledging action and can be found in my book: Everywhere Hope.

Lord, Lord

by Paula Veloso Babadi

I cry “Lord, Lord,”
yet stubbornly cling to the darkness of my false god
and yield to enveloping numbness.
It placates and buffers the gnawing
from which I am unwilling to reach up and
grasp the Hand
longing to save me from myself.
I hide from the ugliness I might discover
in the light of a clear mind.
Instead, I remain dazed
from the fleeting pleasure of sweet deceits, and
fall into the pocket of oblivion
where nothing matters
anymore.
What makes me think I will magically say “yes” to
Truth that longs to find me
after a lifetime of submitting to the subtle
and easy lie?
My actions betray my heart.
It is not enough to cry “Lord, Lord.”
I am convicted by Paul’s lament.
If I sincerely ask for rescue, He will come
and sweep me upward.
Jesus, I trust in You.
“Lord, Lord,”
give me strength not just to ask and trust,
but to act.

Copyright 2023 Paula Veloso Babadi

The Poetry and Praise of Nature

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The Poetry and Praise of Nature

Here we are in the middle of Eastertide. One of the things I have always loved about the Easter season is that it seems as though all of nature is celebrating the Resurrection of Christ along with us.  In my part of the world, Central Texas, this is the time for our annual display of wildflowers, a riot of colors that starts with deep blue bluebonnets, paired with light pink evening primroses that eventually fade into red, yellow and brown sunflowers as the weeks progress and the temperature warms up.

I was on a morning walk last week and stopped to take a photo of a patch of wildflowers. I was happy to see that there were others who were also pleased to see the wildflowers. Darting in and out of the blooms were butterflies and bees, and overhead birds were busy building nests while squirrels waved their bushy tails at me, peering from behind branches, daring me to notice them. The scene reminded me of a passage from one of my favorite children’s books, The Alligator and his Uncle Tooth, by Geoffrey Hayes.  This book tells the tale of a small alligator, named Corduroy, who loved to wander through the hills surrounding his home. He especially loved to meander through the pine forest, always “standing strong and silent through every season. When the trees were hung with snow or covered by fog or moved by wind, Corduroy watched them, and it was like seeing poetry.”

Later in the story Corduroy goes to live with his Auntie Hick, who runs a small stationery shop in a village by the seaside. The little alligator is overwhelmed at his first glimpse of the mighty sea.

“The sea roared as it swept onto the beach, sending up showers of salty mist that tingled Corduroy’s nose. He breathed in the ocean smell. How untamed it was! How alive!

“As he sat there watching it, the sea foam rolling on the waves looked like delicate clouds; and the clouds in the sky looked like flower blossoms; and the sky moved like a song. ‘Poetry!’ thought Corduroy.”

Ah, poetry. That literary form with the ability to teach, communicate and elevate through images and a minimum of syllables, to strip away the familiar and help us see it once again with fresh, new eyes. As I stood in the wildflower patch that morning, watching all the pollinators busy at their work, I felt as though I were watching a living embodiment of poetry, just like Corduroy.

Feeling the warm sun, knowing winter was finally slipping away for another year, I felt the promise of Easter joy rising again; the newness, the light, the victory, the hope. I thought “Someone should write something.” Then I thought “I bet someone already has.”

Upon returning home I opened my Bible and went to the Psalms, that book of precious poetry. Sure enough, I found Psalm 8:

O Lord, our Sovereign,

How majestic is your name in all the earth.

You have set your glory above the heavens.

Out of the mouths of babes and infants

You have founded a bulwark because of your foes,

To silence the enemy and the avenger.

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,

The moon and the stars that you have established;

What are human beings that you are mindful of them,

Mortals that you care for them?

Yet you have made them a little lower than God,

And crowned them with glory and honor.

You have given them dominion over the works of your hands;

You have put all things under their feet,

All sheep and oxen

And also the beasts of the field,

The birds of the air, and the fish of the sea,

Whatever passes along the paths of the sea.

O Lord, our Sovereign,

How majestic is your name in all the earth!

(NRSV Bible, Psalm 8)

 It is such a tremendous truth that all of nature worships God, just by doing what it was created to do. From the orange winged monarch butterfly to the mighty oak tree to the towering, silent mountains, all of creation offers its praise. May you, too, find yourself amid ample opportunities of living praise – and poetry – this Easter season!

© Copyright 2023 by Sarah Pedrozo

Featured photo Eastertide Wildflower Field © Copyright 2023 by Sarah Pedrozo

Healing and Repair: Lesson from the Compost Pile

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Healing and Repair: Lesson from the Compost Pile

During my journey as a working mother, I often felt broken and in need of repair. But I learned so much about God’s love, mercy, and care for me during the healing process.

“…Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” Psalm 30:5

Before the cell phone era, I had a full-time career, two young children, a husband who frequently worked overseas for long periods of time, and a seven-hour drive to my family support system. Feeling sorry for myself with too much work, too little time and overwhelming fatigue, I sat in my cubicle crying. I felt like garbage and wondered when relief might magically appear.

In His wisdom, God inspired me through unlikely sources – the compost pile and my mother. I was into gardening at the time and had begun composting. Composting piles are not a pretty sight when they are being newly formed.  They smell bad. But, as time passes, and the garbage piles up, heat and air and other matter work their magic to change it to a rich, black sweet-smelling substance that provides nourishment for other plant life to grow.

I was eating an orange for lunch one day, and as I peeled the skin and cleaned the segments of connective threads and pith, I realized that in the end, the peel and seeds are not waste. They are food for the compost, which, while in the transformation process, is messy and requires regular upkeep.

“Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. (Psalm 42:6)

My soul needed regular upkeep too, and that included nourishing it with scripture.  I read the New Testament mostly, but my mother loved the Psalms, and I never realized what richness, consolation and beauty they contained until we had a conversation about them. Remembering her advice to always give praise, no matter what, I made the compost connection as I bit into each piece of the orange. As the juice exploded in my mouth, I swallowed the sweetness along with my bitter-blue feelings. The peel and seeds became heralds of better things to come.  My poem below, Citrus Blues, was the fruit of that transformative day.

“And he who sat upon the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’…these words are trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21:5

 

Citrus Blues

 

Beyond the wax-like skin,

behind the rind,

beneath connective fibers,

each cell within the whole bleeds

one by one into invading atmosphere.

 

Dissected now,

each segment swallowed by the cavern

cries its essence

bittersweet into the void.

 

Peelings and pulp discarded

and undigested seeds

(food for the worms)

shall one day make a flower grow.

 

Copyright 2023 Paula Veloso Babadi

Flammable

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Flammable

Our words and actions matter to others.  When the natives in Malta took care of Paul and companions, they had no idea of the recent hardships at sea or the blessings they would receive when the chief’s father and many others were cured of illness. Can we say we are as hospitable in our everyday dealings?

 

The islanders showed us unusual kindness. They built a fire and welcomed us all because it was raining and cold.  Acts 28:2

 

In nature, the careless toss of a match or neglect of a dying campfire can wreak havoc and destruction. That same carelessness with words can cause just as much damage and inflame a person’s emotional state. Today, hurtful rhetoric is everywhere. How do we get past the politics, the hate, the fight mentality? We must start somewhere, one encounter at a time.

 

Some years ago, my husband had to undergo a procedure.  He was afraid and in pain.  When the nurse at the outpatient facility was brusque with his questions and seemingly impatient, he lost his cool and began raising his voice. He became angry and seemed inconsolable, until the head nurse appeared in the doorway and gently pulled him to the back kindly talking him out of his feverish pitch. I thought how understanding she was, how insightful to see beyond his ire to recognize the emotions behind the outburst.

 

I questioned my own responses on other occasions when confronted with irate people and decided then and there I would look beyond the harsh words and return them with gentleness. It’s not always an easy thing to do.  Instead of returning the heat of the fire, I want to return a heart burning with the same love and kindness our Lord has for each of us.

 

My prayer for creation is that we strive to soothe and nurture this earth and each other – and if inevitable fires do ensue, may we focus on new growth arising from the ashes.

 

During the procedure, I penned my thoughts, and the following poem is the fruit of that encounter.

 

Flammable

Incendiary par with war-time evening news,
Coals heaped upon a head already burning-
Caution cries to censor words we choose
That set aflame the limbic system churning.
.
Kind response is water quenching fire –
A touch, a smile can cool the hottest ire.
In the end it’s all about the fear, the pain
That spoken words can soothe like water’s springs or
Aggravate like biting fire’s rain.
.
Partake of introspection if you dare
And count today times you’ve said
“I don’t care.”

 

Copyright 2022 by Paula Veloso Babadi

Thickets

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Thickets are the middle stage of nature’s marvelous development of a forest. From a clear and open space, seeds of grasses, weeds and wildflowers take root and create a meadow that soon fosters shrubs and small trees. Eventually, through a process of change that means the dying of some to make room for new growth, a forest is born. Miriam Webster defines thicket as “a dense growth of shrubbery or small trees” and “something resembling a thicket in density or impenetrability.” Sometimes, the heavy overgrowth of daily life can close us in, encroach on our spirit. Along that path there have been thickets, veils, barriers of all kinds. We see thickets with our eyes. But we feel the shrouded thickness of unseen veils with our hearts. Relationships can sometimes challenge us with an invisible thicket that blocks a clear path if we let it. I wrote the poem, “Thickets” when I was much younger and didn’t have the benefit of countless spiritual retreats and parish Bible studies.

Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  (Philippians 4:6-7, NRSVCE)

I’ve come from the carefree meadow of my youth and am winding my way through life’s thickets which led me to the words of Isaiah –

Thou dost keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusts in thee.  (Isaiah 26:3, NRSVCE)

The tangled journey is all part of a grand design, and with God, nothing is impenetrable or impossible when He resides in the “thick of it” – not even the unseen veils covering wounded people. In the loving care of our Creator, we can walk through anything. I choose to walk through the thickets with Him by my side.

…And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age. (Matthew 28:20, NRSVCE)

 

Thickets

(Thoughts on Renoir’s “On the Terrace”)

There is a curtain green-thick and tangled
that hides us from the blue of other sides.
.
There is a veil –fine, frail, colorless –
that keeps me from her pale-white touch.
.
I clasp a brown-warm basket and cast my gaze
into the empty space,
while she, unseeing
looks away to weary reds and yellows.
.
The green-thick and tangled curtain
that hides us from the blue of other sides
is easier to pass through
than the veil between us.

Except for the Lord.

Copyright 2022 by Paula Veloso Babadi

Lessons from the Ditch

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I’m glad I was paying attention years ago when our beloved pastor at the time gave his homily on the Good Samaritan – today’s Gospel reading. You’ve all heard the account of Jesus explaining what it means to be a good neighbor (Luke 10:25-37). On that Sunday, Father Thanh proposed an entirely new perspective: we are the man in the ditch, and God is our merciful Samaritan.

 

Do not let the flood sweep over me, or the deep swallow me up, or the Pit close its mouth over me. Answer me, O Lord, for your steadfast love is good; according to your abundant mercy, turn to me. Psalm 69:15-16

 

The psalmist knew many perils lurk to rob us of possessions, joy, comfort and conscious living. He also knew God’s love and mercy are boundless. But we easily forget as we let our worries and anxieties bury us in our own ditches.  I got caught up in thieves’ traps many times in my life, and this special sermon woke me up.

From a young age I was taught to follow the directive to be a good neighbor, be kind, lend a helping hand. And it’s an important lesson. But as an adult in my golden years, the equally great lesson – trust in the love and mercy of my ultimate Good Samaritan became clear. He hears my deepest cries even when I cannot speak and reaches into the pit to lift me up when I cannot even move.

Father Thanh from all those years ago at St. Joseph’s parish in Mandarin, Florida, is now Bishop Thanh Thai Nguyen, Auxiliary Bishop of the Diocese of Orange in California. He is a true shepherd in the footsteps of our Lord as his reach across the years pulled me back to the notes I took during his deeply insightful sermon. As Catholic writers let’s always be ready to capture movements of the Holy Spirit – even during sermons. My poem is the fruit of his words and a receptive heart.

The Good Samaritan

by Paula Veloso Babadi

Waylaid by circumstance,

cast down

to eat dust

on deserted roads,

stripped and stricken

but not annihilated,

others pass by

until your holy hand

and gentle heart

bear me to refuge.

Mercy none else dealt.

Blessed by your benevolence,

healed at your bidding,

I dared not hope –

yet I am whole again.

forever I will seek

to be the Good Samaritan

and

the stranger saved by he

 

Copyright 2022 by Paula Veloso Babadi

The Gift of Red

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2008-11-16 021Advent and Christmas were always bright and happy times in my childhood home.  While focus was on preparing for the coming of Christ, mixed in with that anticipation was the fun of decorating.  Red was everywhere and in every room.  My mother made sure our home reflected the joy heralded by the angels of peace on earth and goodwill to all men, with the manger scene a focal point.  We had red plaid table cloths in the dining room and playful elves hanging from every conceivable perch. I came to love the significance of all these bright red and green decorating traditions.

Several years ago, a cardinal perched outside my window one morning. He was a magnificent contrast against the small oak tree in my backyard, and reminded me of my father who faithfully put out black sunflower seeds (the best kind) for the cardinals gracing our home. My mother has kept a stained-glass cardinal on her bedroom window along with a myriad of colored-glass crucifixes, chalices, and other professions of her enduring faith.  She believes that my dad, long gone, signals to her when the cardinals come and visit.

So, my mind wandered the trail of how much the color red permeates our world and how God created so many variations for our delight.  Do you know how many names there are for this color called red?  I didn’t, and so I looked it up and daydreamed about the marvelous range of reds in existence.  But it was the deep scarlet of the cardinal that led me on a path to remember our Savior, not at His birth but at His redemptive sacrifice – and through my father – His teachings from the Sermon on the Mount.  At the end of the trail, one thing was crystal clear to me, one realization that I needed at the time; Jesus loves me , all of us, beyond our imagining, beyond all else in this created world.  I marvel at God’s wisdom in creating a small bird with such power to move the human heart, to lift our spirits toward heaven, and to give me memories of my devout parents.

The following poem was born from the gift of red given to me through inspiring parents.  What memories bring  warmth and comfort to you?  Feel free to share special holiday memories or traditions.

Cardinal Red

More than poinsettias and red curly-ribboned Christmas gifts,
more than glossy lacquered lines of red candy apples in the window,
more than clumsy Crayola-red shapes on a toddler’s first piece of art,
more than sumptuous strawberry-red berries begging to be tasted,
more than the competent clarity of fire engine reds racing to rescue,
the deep scarlet cardinal captures me
in the fleeting seconds of his landing,
in the sound of his song,
in the almost imperceptible rising and falling of his splendid chest.
He breathes life and bleeds red,
as red as the drops of blood2008-11-16 022
falling from our Savior’s wounds
and causes me to remember my father
quoting Matthew 6:26 from his red Douay-Rheims
“ Behold the birds of the air, for they neither sow,
nor do they reap, nor gather into barns;
and your heavenly Father feedeth them.
Are not you of much more value than they?”
In this cardinal red moment,
the two hundred and eighty four other shades
referenced in books
cannot compare.

 

 

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