The View from the Cross

For though He faces a difficult death

He looks now back at long history

And casts His eye to the future soon

As He makes a way free, opportune

Hanging patiently on that tree

He will gladly give up His last breath

For though the pit looks sordid, grim,

He does not fear the dark, the pain

Shrinking not from the cruelty of its awful kiss

He enters into the fastness of that abyss

Knowing that love will raise Him up again

For no predatory embrace can hold Him

And there will be a victory undiminished

No more crying, no more doubt

On our behalf the Father to entreat

A perfect work full and complete

Angels rejoicing with a shout

When at last He says, “It is finished!”

MDC July 2021

Trees are like people

The sound of an axe as it hits a tree trunk tells

a story about the life of the tree; its genealogy, 

its history, its personality. 

An old callistemon or bottle brush will groan with 

a thick wet thunk as an axe blade splits its flesh, 

biting into the resistant phylum, sinews skewed

by the keen whet edge of foreign metal, matter as 

strange to it as alien life will be to humankind.

A dry tone coupled with strong vibrations coming back 

up the axe handle will tell you it's a gum, maybe an 

ironbark of indeterminate age until such times as its 

rings are exposed

The paper bark will catch you by surprise, looking like

a fluffy winter cardigan, its soft skin curling and inviting 

but its resistance to sharp blows can come as a shock.

Take stock - all is not as it seems.

The camphor laurel will greet your attack by scenting 

the air with its perfume, rewarding you with the incense 

of its death long after it is gone.

As we do with one another - we often decide if we like 

a tree from a distance because we like its shape or 

colour, or we know it will do something for us like 

provide shade, fruit, safe harbour or a hiding place

Often, we don’t realise how much we depended on a 

tree until it is cut down; its amenity something we took

for granted until it is lost. My uncle treated people like 

trees - severe pruning being his favourite garden activity

His adage was if a tree doesn’t do what you want, then 

get one that will. Oh, he would graft and prune and 

trim and shape regardless of whether the tree was 

suitable for the ground, the location or the climate.

Sometimes I wonder if we realise that producing sturdy 

fruit requires sturdy boughs. Some people need to be 

handled with tenderness and care, and even then they 

will never produce sturdy fruit. 

Don’t plant an apple tree if you want a dainty flowering 

hedge. Go ahead and plant an orchard of apples but 

don’t be sorry if there is no delicate beauty to soften 

the landscape, or to hand to your spouse after an argument.

Every time I chop wood for the fireplace I wonder at the life 

of a tree. I am so practiced with an axe that sometimes,

before awareness comes, I have one in my mouth,

readying myself to make a deep incision into the 

flesh of an argument that needs to be felled quickly.

Those occasions never end well.

MDC July 2021

Pay cheque

The garbage truck lumbers up the street, its injured-

beetle crawl slowly moving it along a path 

it knows so well it can do it without thinking

Like my neighbours, I wheel my bins to the curb

the evening before, leaving my cyclic offering on the 

sidewalk altar to feed the returning beast

I pass along its route on my way to work so 

I know the driver must be getting up well before dawn

I wonder if the early rising makes up for the stupefying mundanity

I wonder if the certainty of weekly rubbish provides 

a security of employment for him, and does the

regular pay check make up for the lack of job satisfaction

I have worked white-collar and blue, self-employed 

and shift work. I prefer the certainty of a small regular 

pay cheque than the feast and famine of self-employment

There’s something to be said for the monotony of small 

regular payments - routine to take care of life's banal essentials

providing space for a precision not possible without regularity.

MDC July 2021

A Plumber's View of Light (for Neville)

Light is a beautiful thing; not only does it bring beauty to everything it touches, it is beautiful in and of itself.

It ushers in every day, washing the dawn with the fresh mercies of God. And in the long days of an Indian summer it's fading light warms the world with its tender touch.

I go to work each day, sometimes eagerly, 

sometimes reluctantly, 

sometimes with determination and purpose, 

sometimes with drudgery dogging my steps, but I go always looking for light.

In particular, I look for the light that is mine alone. A gift from Him who is thinking of me in every moment. I have been the recipient of illumination that has been created only for me. I know this because some things that I have been shown in moments have been so personal as to only be for me. Not that I am any more special than anyone else; I don't put myself up on a pedestal. I don't stand on a stage, I don't yearn for the treacherous light of public adoration, but I understand that the Lord throws light on my path so I can know where to place my steps. I know this specific individual light is available to every person, and it's unique application is not diminished by its universal availability, but the light He gives me is not seen by anyone else.

Sometimes light comes in the strangest places; when my hands are covered in the refuse of humanity's existence; when a co-worker is venting over a perceived injustice; particularly when I am engrossed in a task - suddenly the penny drops.

Much of my work is conducted in tight spaces, dim corners, under buildings, in muddy trenches, in rain, in heat, in awkward positions, in drudgery, in discomfort - it is at these times that light often comes.

Light is particularly beautiful in the times when offence has been hard to resist, and the Lord is merciful to me and reminds me that I am capable of being offensive too. And there are times when light is so abundant that I am dazzled by its liberality and I am amazed at how I missed such obvious knowledge.

I am not a wealthy man but there are days when the light has been so lavish that I luxuriate in its glow. The gift of light is such a broad endowment that I cannot specifically remember every happenstance. Yet, I remember some divine sanctions with such clarity that I am more certain of their veracity than I am of the law of physics.

I'm never going to be a lightning rod for popular opinion, I'm not going to grace the cover of any magazine. There is nothing you can read into my preference for wines heavy with tannin or my deep appreciation for prog rock. I give no thought to wishing everyone approved of my preferences. But, I do think about how I may, in my own way, bring a little of this light to others. It will be without fanfare, often without witness except for the recipient, without benefit to me, without my knowing even.

My likes and dislikes do not form a commentary on the veracity of my faith. But one thing I know with the certainty of a rising sun, the effectiveness of my conduct as a man living among men is how my behaviour is informed and directed by light.

And so I go out, each day, looking for light.

MDC 20/04/2021