How strange he’d been at supper handing round
the cup, that talk about his blood, the bread
his body broken, eaten, those who fed
on him by covenant now newly bound.
And so they slept, and in their dreams the sound
of someone praying, crying out in dread
amid the smell of olives, someone dead
to hope whose prayers fell leaden to the ground,
resounded with so nightmarish a peal,
the dreamers even thought it might be real.
And real it was for him whose blood not wine
but sweat now poured as he his prayer intoned,
all human now, bereft of the divine,
his passion born in knowing he’s alone.
Agony
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Vance, who converted to Catholicism in 2019, attended the liturgy with his wife, Usha, a practicing Hindu, and his three children after meeting with Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni earlier in the day.
My Catholic identity and my wife’s Protestant identity continue to endure, and our faith has developed together in greater harmony, knowing that our love for each other was ultimately grounded in our love for God.
the wily accuser
tempted him in just the way to confuse a savior:
All this I will give you.
Daydreams and memory are saving some
Down there from shame