Seeking Authentic Voice

It is over. What is over? Nay, how much is over truly. Harvest days we toiled to so for; Now the sheaves are gathered newly, Now the wheat is gathered duly. It is finished. What is finished? Much is finished known or unknown; Was the fallow field left unsown? Will these buds be always unblown? It suffices. What suffices? All suffices reckoned rightly; Spring shall bloom where now the ice is, Roses make the bramble slightly, And the quickening sun shine brightly, And the latter wind blow lightly, And my garden teem with spices. by Christina Georgina Rossetti. We celebrated her feast day from "Holy Women Holy Men" last week, and reflected on the text of her beautiful hymns in the Episcopal 1982 Hymnal (On A Bleak Midwinter, for example). I am thinking about gardening. In part because we blessed the church garden last Saturday. I enjoyed the process of doing research on Rogation Day and creating a liturgy for blessing the garden. I have planted some produce ...

Am I a stone, and not a sheep, That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross, To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow loss, And yet not weep? Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly; Not so the thief was moved; Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky. A horror of great darkness at broad noon – I, only I. Yet give not o’er But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once more And smite a rock. - by Christina Rossetti