Phillip Medhurst

A Pilgrimage to Truth

Tag: God

Noli Me Tangere (to Mary Magdalene)

 

To me it seemed a comforting idea,

Too welcome, too sublime to be untrue

That love and meaning could thus rendez-vous:

Be gazed upon, and touched.

 

But doubts persist that I imagined Him.

When He did not appear I then assumed

A love that God in fact was loath to show

Unto The Crucified.

 

Yet can there be conclusion to my grief

If I can never cling to one who walks

Within the graveyard of my dreams, with voice

Unsilenced by his pain?

 

And does my vision promise me too much?

Does Christ Himself recoil from ill-placed trust,

Compelled to say, “Noli me tangere” –

That flesh can never tarry.

 

 

 

Mater Dolorosa

 

The pains of childbirth, then of dispossession,

A leaping heart, then steady retrogression

Was all angelic flutters came to bring.

Fair salutations bore a farewell sting.

 

And Death’s dark angel did not pass my door,

But slammed the board, demanding more and more.

My God, you owe this to me: let me see

Wherefore my child has now forsaken me.

 

I want to see him rise to tear the veil,

And borne by angels his kind Father hail,

As his bejewelled banner he unfurls,

His blood its rubies and my tears its pearls.

 

Icon

 

Though man-proportioned, Christos shrinks

Into His mother’s robe:

Our God kenotic made.

 

The Virginal Conception

 

Mary, maid and mother – both –

Conceives divinity.

(Fire, we’re told, does not consume

Her pure virginity).

 

You who tread on holy ground

Put on simplicity.

If He is to be born, God needs

All your complicity.

 

The Sacrifice

 

A sacrifice like Abel’s is required:

No shrieking root torn up,

Or apple plucked and dashed,

But some born thing, with sentience,

Whose face, bewildered by the knife

Will stare as life flows out.

 

That way our God is satisfied,

Reclaiming what he once bestowed,

Maybe, heartless, envying

This creature-kind who lived

And loved the crimson blood too much –

As though it were its own.

 

Eden

 

Since Adam delved and Eva span

Man’s waywardness has spoiled God’s plan.

Disease and death here level all;

Our winding-sheet conceals a Fall.

Though God could make a bush to speak,

A dumb child tells us who is weak:

Though He made His dead Son to eat,

Yet feeding some would be a feat,

For they can neither dig nor spin,

And day by day their limbs grow thin.

Such is the consequence of sin.