Exhaling

Gabrielle is doing a wonderful job of presenting St. Teresa’s “mansions” in overview. If you are interested, visit her blog .

Meanwhile, for contrast, I thought I’d post my first poem about St. Thomas. This one is in the book .

Didymus
vide et crede

I’ve regretted it ever since.
I asked and received
and Have regretted it ever since.
A hair’s breadth from obduracy,
suffering an intellignece that refused to step aside,
demanding evidence.
Within me a heart not yet warmed,
beating only because it is its nature to beat.
A realist, relying on reason,
refusing to believe;
blaming this on their grief,
their fear.
So much tension makes men sna;.
Freely chosen enclosure in which I vaingloried.

He returned to save me.
He called me, struggling to believe,
and gently demanded I prove myself wrong.
“Let me have your finger. See. Believe.”
Hand of clay I know so well
reached deeply into glorified flesh.
I was overcome.
And I surrendered.
“My Lord and my God.”
But he did not call me blessed.
No.
“Blessed are they who have not seen.”
Trusting souls who see with the heart.
Childlike souls
who know truth with no hands.
Blessed are they.

Be careful what you ask for.

I’m not sure I agree with myself now. As time passes, I think I was too hard on Thomas, and I see him differently, as evidenced by the poem I posted yesterday. He DID demand evidence. He DID protest. But I don’t think it was vainglory…