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“and I am perpetually awaiting / a rebirth of wonder”
                           Lawrence Ferlinghetti

No Footwashing.
No solemn Eucharist.
No stripping of the altar.
No keeping watch
by the Blessed Sacrament.

Beaches and scrap piles on his home island of Bali provide Martinus Sumbaji with the materials he needs to make weathered wood “faith boxes” like this portrait of Christ in his Passion. The Indonesian Roman Catholic artist knows from commercial work in animation and digital vector design that imagery with sacred content needs to be accessible to the larger non-Christian culture in which he lives. He uses symbols like the cross, the lamb, and the grape cluster, universally recognized as religious emblems in our age of globalization.

“The church, as wonderful as it has been, has been a very difficult place for some people.”

in the fading blur of last night’s dream,
the tiles’ seams beneath my feet,

the saucer’s crack, the hard dirt trail,
the lavender air, the stumbling prayer,

the shower’s steam, the empty page,
the scurry of words, the fire of noon,

the wooden knock of interruptions,
the droop of afternoon, the stab

of grief imbedded in a tune,
the string of syllables in flight,

the lost connection, the evening wine,
the sinking haze of the yet-undone—

Richard Danielpour’s universal Passion and James Primosch’s mass for doubters

Philip Kolin’s poetry is about juke joints, bluesmen, mosquitoes, ladybugs, race, faith, and more.

Matt and Adam are joined by Steve Bragaw to talk about grace, pandemic, and Groundhog Day. 

It’s a screwball comedy about pandemic life! Pandemic life without kids, that is.

First Easter without
(he died in the summer)
and alone

although
in her driveway my neighbor
offered at arms’ length
a loaf of new bread

and I took the bread
in the same way
and at my table broke it
with gloved hands

and processed
like a Mary
to my friend
and gave her portion

saying
Take and eat
this is for you

and taking the bread
with bare hands
O gracious she said
I am hungry

and praises arose
like leaven
in our hearts.

We are flakes of snow; we are notes vanishing in the air.