At the Mount of Olives...

It's Holocaust Remembrance Day

I've flipped through my poems

and am led to share one today about the "apple of God's eye" 

from my 2006 Israel pilgrimage

which included a visit to the breathtaking Mount of Olives...

Image credit: Getty Images

THE WIND EXTINGUISHES OUR HAVDALAH CANDLE

AT THE MOUNT OF OLIVES

We gather to watch the sun go down

over the Mount of Olives—

The view, breathtaking in its splendor

O Jerusalem

The setting sun swathes

the Dome of the Rock

in an ebbing wash of burnished gold

as we huddle close together

It is cold. The wind whips us

this Saturday evening in November

as Sabbath closes in the Land

A blue and white Israeli flag

patterned after a prayer shawl

fades to a shadow

as it flaps heartily in the breeze

We sing Days of Elijah

Shalom, Shalom Jerusalem

The Shema

Rabbi Jonathan attempts to light

the Havdalah candle

but the wind is too gusty

and the flame keeps going out

He sounds the shofar over the city

prays the Aaronic Benediction

prays for the peace

of this turbulent city

named for peace

All the while

we are keenly mindful

that a day is coming

perhaps not very long from now

when Yeshua, our Messiah

will return to Earth—

            to this very place

                        Hallelujah—

                                    Hallelu-Yah!

Maude Carolan Pych

Prepared for Pilgrimage

Recalling my pilgrimage to Israel

in 2006...

Photo credit: dreamstime.com

THE VERY SOUND OF HEBREW

Israel Pilgrimage—2006

Israir Terminal JFK, October 2006

I wait to board—

full of anticipation

carry-on at my knee

guide-book in hand

heart already

in the land to which

we’re bound

pilgrim feet, still

hours away from stepping, at last

into the Land of the Book

Announcements emanate

from the sound system

in Hebrew

probably

arrivals, departures

boarding information

do not leave bags

unattended

perhaps

Aaron David Horowitz

there is a call for you

at the ticket counter

or maybe

Flight #743

is delayed

due to inclement weather

I do not know

the language                                  

All my pilgrim ears hear

is something ancient

and deep

baruchas—

the holy sound

of prayer

Maude Carolan Pych

A Visitor at the Prayer Meeting...

Here's a poem from several years ago...

Image credit: clipartmag.com

I REMEMBER GEORGE

I remember George.

He came into our Catholic prayer group,

fresh out of Protestant Bible school,

like a walking, talking Bible,

concordance and commentary,

rolled into one.

This young, big, burly carpenter,

prayed and sang the loudest,

raised his hands the highest;

had as much fire in his spirit

as in his flaming hair.

He spoke in King James English,

and explained things to us,

like foreshadowings and grace

and expounded upon

the Tabernacle in the wilderness,

almost verbatim

from the Old Testament.

I’d never heard anyone

talk like that before,

so I asked George,

how long he’d been studying Scripture.

He told me, six years.

I read Scripture every day,

figured, in six years,

I’d quote the Bible, like George.

Six years came and went,

seven, eight, ten, more.

Still, I couldn’t

quote like George.

Once, in prayer,

I asked the Lord, why,

faithful to my reading

though I was,

why I still could not

quote Scripture like George.

Tender, loving words

seeped into me.

“It is for George

to know My Word,” He said,

“I called him to be a minister.

It is for you

to know my heart.”

Finally, I rested

in His loving peace,

knowing those tender words

were true.

Maude Carolan

God Said, "I Am."

Image credit: thescripturesays.org

I AM WHO I AM

Exodus 3:14

God said—

I Am

He was utterly

straightforward

Exists—

Is

Am

The most important

question

            answered

in the audible voice

of the Almighty

Himself

even without

the asking

Tell them, He told Moses

I Am

sent you

That He Is

Was

and Ever Shall Be—

is

the greatest

            manifestation

                        of our peace

Maude Carolan Pych