Jan. 10, 2010

Sydney, Australia

The welcome warmth that wraps the wanderer

who seeks a sanctum in its sainted shoals

now foists a fervid front of gray-haired “friends”

preparing for the pastor’s primal pace

to simulate the Savior’s sacrifice.

The ancient ambiance agitates anew

the deep devotion drowned in deadly depths

of inbound self-iconoclastic ills:

this is the rite revived for reverence

from childhood’s candour church-inspired.

The congregation’s early circumspect

response recedes in raw and rare respect

as ageless anthem blends and billows up

above the multifarious migrants’ midst,

proclaiming papal patronage and pride

in Peter’s pastoral and rock-based post.

Here is a sea of servant-saintliness

that meshes all in missionary mode:

the brown, the black, the blonde—or balding beau—

each voice is vibrant with a vital verve

to urge an undiminished unity

of charismatic choice and certitude.

This Sunday’s sequence segues into a surge

that purges out a problematic past:

renews a childhood’s church-oriented choice

to turn around the transient’s truant trip

back to the Savior’s stable safety stop.

Here at Mackillop’s mesmerizing Mass—

where migrant militancy meet and match—

the servant-soul surmounts a Second Spring

to where the wayward winds its weary way:

A haven in the hallowed harvest-home

Where Mary meets her mammoth mothered mass!

(Written after the poet’s granddaughter, Sydney resident Giselle Goloy, brought her grandmother for the first time to hear Mass at the awe-inspiring Mary Mackillop Memorial Chapel on Jan. 10, 2010, the date that marks the 29tth death anniversary of the author’s mother—a remarkable coincidence!)