For Thomas
Today. Today surrounded by you at the table, my holy innocents, at the moment where blessings should have come forth from my heart and out of my mouth, I became monstrous, ugly, enraged, the dragon lashing out, spewing forth curses of righteous indignation - the ripped screens, the shoes left in the rain, the scrawls of ink all over the walls, the not living up to my requests - my expectations so poisoned at that moment with anger (Lord, have mercy) I was unable even to pray over the food and demanded that someone do it for me.
And you. You did not shy away but instead were like the warrior-saint - valiant, though perhaps afraid, daring to open your mouth at the offense, singing "Christ is Risen," and then offering gentleness, a soft answer, a blessing, to quell my distemper, bestowing to me, your mother who should know better, a kindly rebuke - a balm rather than a slap to my distorted face - to give me breath, a holy spirit, to create space for repentance.
How quickly you opened your arms, forgiving me again, your terribly flawed, sinful mother. How pure is your heart. How beautifully you show me God.
Isaak's penitential psalm, unaccompanied.
Again, and yes again, O Ceaseless Tolerator
of our bleaking recurrences, O Forever Forgoing
Foregone (sans conclusion), O Inexhaustible,
I find my face against the floor, and yet again
my plea escapes from unclean lips, and from a heart
caked in and constricted by its own soiled residue.
You are forever, and forever blessed, and I aspire
one day to slip my knot and change things up,
to manage at least one late season sinlessly,
to bow before you yet one time without chagrin.
from Idiot Psalms
Scott Cairns
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