During this earthly life, our chief vocation
is to be led by Christ in preparation
for our Heavenly, starward, destination
where our souls shall find total exultation---
unhurried, and unending in duration
(doubters may view this with some consternation)
to worship God in Christ liturgically,
as given to us in the psalmody,
and in the Bible's last book, Revelation.
Unto ages of ever, celebration---
of Life, and Love, and Light, and of Salvation
which, in Christ, have their utlimate summation,
as we offer to Him all exaltation;
which is our privilege, joy, and jubilation.
Starward
Author's Notes/Comments:
This poem bears a special meaning for me, which I propose to record here in these notes. This evening, my mother-in-law's church sent an annointed prayer cloth to me, at my request, to help with my various medical afflictions. Upon receiving that, I felt, in my spirit, an almost audible click as if tumblers fell into place, opening some things and closing others. I have remarked, elsewhere, on the synchronicity (for lack of a better word) between the days and dates from March 1 through December 31, 2021 to the same period in the year 1976, which was, for me, the most important period of that length in my life, and second only to the week of January 9th through the 16th, 1994, when I became a Christian (the 9th) and was baptized (the 16th). In May of 1976, I was diligently working on the great project of my senior year in high school, for a class called the Bible As Literature, taught by my senior year mentor, who first encouraged me to follow the poetic vocation. My project was to write a sequence of four poems of increasing length on Scriptural subjects; and the third of those poems was my attempt to versify the entire Epistle Of Saint Jude, in imitation of John Milton's versification of several of the Psalms. Since that time, Saint Jude's Epistle has always fascinated me. Its closing verses serve, in my mind, as an entrance to the great Liturgical experience of Revelation. I believe the Epistle is unfairly marginalized, both for its brevity and for its similarity to the Second Epistle Of Saint Peter. Another development of this evening's events, set in motion by the prayer cloth, was a first reading of the poems of Saint Romanos the Melodist. As I read about his work, I distinctly felt that I should write about this verse of Saint Jude's. In that way, and others, the ambitions of the awkward, clumsy, nerdish dweeb that I was in 1976 dovetail into the final part of the life span of an old Christian man whose body is falling apart around him, whose right hand has become, this very day, wracked with gout (third time in three months) so that my thumb (for now, the only digit affected) can hardly keyboard; but, despite these apparent obstacles, I can soar starward above them and post this poem.
