A Poetic Priest on Dorm Duty

Jim Crosby, a priest at St. Stephen's Episcopal School in Austin, finished reading LifeSpace late one night on dorm duty. Reflecting in the quiet, he began to write:

Duty Night / Gestation Suite

I breathe less deeply.
My chest collapses,
bends in upon itself.
I grow afraid.
Accusing of cowardice my challenger,
I feel my own faith flag,
take flight.

Divine breath,
fill my lungs.
Expansive one,
explode me.
Be the power that kills this me,
that I may live anew.

Pounding heart, ravaged nails,
eyes tired and itchy,
this is not where I want to live,
or who I will to be.

Raise me to relationship,
and service, risen one.
Joy, I know, rests in hearing your voice,
seeing your face,
shouldering your easy yoke.

Creator, recreate me.

And yet . . .
I sense the darkness of this night,
the breaking of this heart,
softening of my soul . . .
all is meant,
in accord with your good purpose.

I offer you shards.
Make a vessel for your use . . .
your joy.

* * *
Eyes close toward sleep.
Seven score and ten minutes remain of the day.
Dreams must wait.
Deference to duty subdues the body.
Desire denied, discipline is donned.
Teach of faith, of lasting.
Speak, your servant listens.

* * *
Quiet descends,
with scholars at their books.
The night grows deep.
Fruit of human labor is dubious,
ambiguous,
seen and unseen,
constructive program,
ready destruction . . .
and who, God knows, will win the day?
With scholars at their books,
quiet descends.

* * *
Tears well behind my eyes,
dammed,
ready to flood.
This sadness in me nears its end . . .
its end in joy when tears descend.

* * *
May minutes, hours,
days, and years,
time become oblation,
looking back show
providence,
loving revelation.

* * *
Granite grooved by use and time
beautiful and smooth,
your every reason, sundry rhyme,
each smallest, quaintest move,
is known, familiar, gazed upon,
and fondly spoken of,
where all that's good is focused on,
seen by the eyes of love.

—Jim Crosby (9/9/07)

Joni