Grateful

He had been through the arc of the storm.
From the distant rumble of angry air
Electrified and bitter berry black
To the last drop of the downpour gone,
On a summer breeze and the song of a bird.

He felt he shouldered the whole of God’s plan for himself.
From the space carved out in God’s love by the fallen one
To the righteous light of his deliverance from that dark, desolate space.

It was St. Augustinus who led him through that storm.
The Roman star once rising and shining above
The sun-bleached bones of Carthage.
That reluctant bishop of Hippo.
It was his path he followed from Plato,
To Plotinus, to Christ the Savior.
St. Augustinus – his gate to a deeper truth,
His higher calling above
The ship-wrecking wind of his own will.

How grateful he was to this father of the ancient church,
This pillar of God’s word.
The stone rejected now the corner stone
In his storm shelter built
From God’s eternal love and forgiveness.