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Odysseus’ Crown of Roses

Fr. Paul Ward

Of a man and a call I sing,

sojourner on the path of the Lord,

washed upon the coast of life,

whom Providence elected for something.

Before the break of dawn,

God held him in his pupil and dreams.

He formed him from the clay of the earth,

and breathed life into him.

How mysteriously made is this man, and all men,

Wonder leaps in dance of awe,

As his being lifts up a humble hymn of praise,

and God never abandons him.

Born like all men, nowhere important,

no significant hour, no famous name,

the greatness of his heart bursts in his tiny chest,

and the wick his hidden life is lit.

Wealth he has as any other or less,

Discipline he has grown to love,

Purity has enchanted him in an impure world,

and he has consecrated his life to God.

The worlds wells of happiness were shallow and dry,

The burn of titanic ambitions flooded his eyes with tears,

and he turned, repentant, to the Temple, the Catholic Church,

only to discover, here is his father’s house.

Glory to God the Father,

Praise to God the Son,

Honor to the Holy Spirit,

Triune God, all one.

Sufferings and many wanderings, in body or soul,

make each man Ulysses.

The anointing of oil makes him another Christ,

and the wandering way a viacrucis.

Yet if he knew what was coming, would he not cry,

“Father, please, spare me this hour; but fiat.”

Who could ever imagine so much suffering was possible,

that the bag holding our suffering grows but can’t burst?

And so he suffered humiliation and betrayal,

abandonment, detraction, extortion and hate,

rejection and pain and unrequited love.

Oh, Father, free me from this hour.

And so he suffered in his flesh, pains that no one appreciates,

Abuse, depravation, poverty and abomination,

Exhaustion and hunger and thirst.

Oh, Father, yet was it not for this hour that you sent me?

With his cross on his shoulder,

He tries to follow the flawless example of God’s love,

And finds only weakness, fear and misery inside,

Yet God supplies; He gives him what He asks him, and asks what he wants.

From the top of the tree, he shouts, “Forgive them,

for they justify what they do.”

Each day he dies to himself,

and this is what it means to be baptized.

Thank you Father for the mission to the cross,

Thank you Jesus for the delight to die with you there,

Thank you Paracletos for the power you enkindle within,

Trinity of passion.

And each new day he lost the devil, flesh and world,

To find himself in God.

The new life in Christ and the Spirit’s love

was all that mattered to him.

From the crypt of his sins Jesus lifted him up,

From the darkness of doubt and selfishness Light shone upon him,

From the pit of despair hope sprang forth,

despite his falls back down.

And he heard your words, “Go out to all the world,”

And that defined his years and days,

For your news is good, as good as it is hard:

“Abandon all self-love, ye who enter my Sacred Heart.”

To help him the Spirit bestowed him with Wisdom,

Piety, Knowledge, Counsel, Fortitude, Understanding, and Fear.

He was an apostle and a mystic,

and the world hated him.

He couldn’t do it alone,

so the Father sent him a Mother,

perfect in every way,

who ran the race and won the crown first.

And her crown was beauty,

perfection and purity and virtue,

wisdom and tenderness and holiness,

power and joy and grace: Blessed Mother of God!

How unworthy was he to serve the most high?

He always tried to grasp the answer, but couldn’t.

For his ways are not man’s ways,

rather the wanderer’s way, and full of nails. Amen.