"By persecution pruned, watered with blood"

"... The domed interior swallows up the day.
Here, where to light a candle is to pray,
The candles' flame shows up the almond eyes
Of local saints who view with no surprise
Their martryrdoms depicted upon walls
On which the filtered daylight faintly falls.
The flame shows up the cracked paint - sea-green blue
And red and gold, with grained wood showing through -

Of much kissed ikons, dating from, perhaps,
The fourteenth century...
Thus vigorously does the old tree grow,
By persecution pruned, watered with blood,
Its living roots deep in pre-Christian mud.
It needs no bureaucratical protection.
It is its own perpetual resurrection..."

From a poem by John Betjeman, this excerpt is from Bishop Kallistos Ware's The Orthodox Way. I am very happy that this lovely bit of poetry is my 1,800th post here on Καθολικός διάκονος.

"What I do is me; for that I came"

A much needed restorative

- As Kingfishers Catch Fire, by Gerard Manley Hopkins:

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
  As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
  Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
  Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
  Selves - goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying What I do is me; for that I came.

I say more: the just man justices;
  Keeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is -
  Chríst. For Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
  To the Father through the features of men's faces.

"Singing a song, In search of Eldorado"

My Grandma Dodge lived for poetry, not because she was an educated woman (she never graduated high school and worked as hospital cleaning woman), but because it spoke to her heart and helped her see the beauty of the world and of each person. She never travelled anywhere, but stayed in Ogden pretty much her whole life. She never even had a driver's license. She imparted this love to her children, stepchildren and to her many grandchildren. I was fortunate to spend a lot of time with her, especially when I was very young. She's been gone for a long time now.

Last night, lying in his hospital bed, as I was leaving, my Dad took my hand and recited this poem to me, which is why this Friday's traditio is Eldorado, by Edgar Allan Poe:

Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old-
This knight so bold-
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"

Edgar Allan Poe