Lord Help Us

Dear Lord, you know me inside out,
and love me — warts and all.
You’re always there to comfort me
and catch me when I fall.

I worship you with all I have,
but sometimes, just the same,
it’s hard to comprehend some acts
committed in your name.

For where is love reflected
in a history that tells
how radical Crusaders slaughtered
countless “infidels”?

Such hatred, even to this day,
is hard to understand,
as churches preach less tolerance
than shown at Disneyland.

Oh please, before I close my fist
to cast a hurtful stone,
impress upon my foolish heart
that judgment’s yours alone.

Protect me from your followers,
the holier-than-thous
who claim the inside track on knowing
what “God’s Will” allows,

As each of us alone must answer
for the things we do
that cause another soul to stumble
on the path to You.

 

 

 

cc-by-nc-nd  1997 Mary Boren

 

Photo Source

View discussion on this poem.

Echoes

Syrian refugees wait on the Syrian side of the border near Sanliurfa, Turkey, June 10. Bishop Eusebio Elizondo, chairman of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops' Committee on Migration, says the United States should welcome Syrian refugees and work for peace. (CNS photo/Sedat/Suna, EPA) See ELIZONDO-REFUGEES Nov. 17, 2015.

(CNS photo/Sedat/Suna, EPA)

In the face of human need,
may our voices be projected.
Kindness shown in word and deed
never leaves us unaffected.
Whether given or received,
fellow feeling fills the spaces
hollowed by the woes perceived
in the faces.

—–

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2016

#stoprefugeedemonization

Friend to a Troubled Heart

sunset-after-the-storm

Never in this lifetime can we know
why, with undeserved and vengeful blow,
grief will choose its victims from the good
passing over evil where it stood.

Justice in accordance with His plans
ultimately rests in God’s own hands,
but when storms of life will not divert
He is waiting there to ease the hurt.

When the darkness creeps into your mind,
gentle soul, may you unceasing find
stamina without and peace within;
comfort in the presence of a Friend.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 1999

 

In Your Grief

dried-red-roses

My arms are reaching out; my eyes are wet.
If I but had a repertoire replete
with healing words of comfort, could I meet
your loss and cancel out the heavy debt
of anguish? From the chasm of regret,
my heart goes rushing out on stumbling feet
to offer something tangible and sweet.
I can’t. I haven’t walked that valley yet.

But there is One who’s equal to the task.
He knows each upturned pebble on the trail,
just like the back of His own blood-soaked hands
that purchased every tear. Because you ask,
He’ll guide you through the Valley of Travail,
or carry you. He can. He understands.

———

cc-by-nc-ndMary Boren,  2000