God, the Glassmaker
Master, You compare Our Father to the potter,
who molds and crafts the clays of Earth, with measured
stroke and gentle touch converting what was dust
into person, infusing in his beauty the eternal part.
But, my God, let me offer yet another metaphor,
by which to approach the Mystery of Trinity: You are
the Glassmaker, who continuously takes the sands,
and in fire of love fuses flesh and spirit into one.
Yea, from the furnace You take a shining morsel
of crystal, still as if confection glowing, rolling
and stretching it, fire into diamond transforming,
with Your breath making and filling the blazing void.
Beneath Your hands, morsel into chalice changes,
You dip once more the masterpiece into bath of glass:
emerging, You endow the whole with feet and hands,
crown the top with mark of favor, placing Your monogram.
At last the vessel in full glory is circumspect by angels,
who marvel at its depth, the use for which it was made:
to hold the Blood of Christ on Earth, and thus exude
the ruby Light and Glory of the Glassmaker in Heaven.
Though as with the little Jesus, when men so cruelly sought
His destruction, this singular chalice in hands of the world
is found, it seems to fill this star with bile, mar its beauty
in bath of filth, even cause it to fall without care, breaking.
But, my Lord, for the Glory of Your Name, you gather
the crystal so neglected by the world: what was impure,
You wash away, what by repeated ablution has become cloudy,
by caring grinding and polishing You restore to perfection.
What has cracked or chipped, You doth gingerly replace,
the gem of stone with gem of living love, and what has
shattered, You place in furnace and repeat Your first work,
desiring that all the work of Your hands be gathered into one.
The beast seems to be raging through Your shop, my Christ,
the world seems to find fault, consider bubbles and veins
evidence of wrong in Your infallible work! But they know not
what the Lord doth know, and see when it is placed in Heaven’s ray.