Archives For January 2017

A poem written in honor of three great men of the 20th century: Archbishop Fulton Sheen, St. Alberto Hurtado, and Billy Graham…

4 January 2017 A.D.

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When the Son of Man comes,

Will He find faith on earth–

Faith of the apostles

Inflamed by their new birth?

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When the Son of Man comes,

Will He be crucified,

Or will we simply laugh

And roll our white-washed eyes?

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When the Son of Man comes

In glory and in truth,

Will we all be condemned

For false eternal youth?

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When the Son of Man comes

To find us numb and dead,

Will we blame each other

Or just blame Him instead?

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Now the Son of Man comes,

But we retreat in fear,

Closing off our houses,

Condemning Christmas cheer.

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Now the Son of Man comes

If we kneel down to pray,

Not on comfy sofas

But the old-fashioned way.

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Find a million reasons

To doubt and hide your face

From the real purpose

And dest’ny of our race.

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Inspire in us, O God,

A Pentecost anew

That shakes us to the bone

To savor what is true.

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A living flame of love

Ignite within my chest

That I may preach with joy

Your message to the rest.

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When the Son of Man comes,

May He find faith on earth,

Spread by holy Christians

Who claim God-given worth.

“Show me your hands. Do they have scars from giving? Show me your feet. Are they wounded in service? Show me your heart. Have you left a place for divine love?” –Archbishop Fulton Sheen

“If we don’t get to heaven, then our life is worth nothing. If we get to heaven, then we will be happy forever. Amen.” –St. Alberto Hurtado

“Courage is contagious. When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are often stiffened.” –Billy Graham

Best wishes,

David A.H. Inczauskis, S.J.

American Dreams

January 1, 2017 — 4 Comments

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(Looking out onto the Appalachian Mountains)

A poem I’ve written for the new year:

“American Dreams”

12/31/16

Rainstorm flame and playground chalk.
Seaside villas light the dock.
Voices sounding, knuckles knock.
Summer sunset, roadside talk.

Mountain breath and boatside breeze.
Feel the air between the knees.
Pastures pure and yellow cheese.
Castles up in braided trees.

Skyline glow and taxis fast
Whipping left and right then past.
Window glare in cities vast.
Beaches blonde with heat at last.

Cherries red and skies of blues.
Fences white and wooden pews.
Forest falls of yellow hues.
Childhood mem’ries not to lose.

Best wishes,
David Inczauskis, S.J.