Time Is Suspended, Every Time

After I bow,
the priest places Jesus
on the throne I made for Him
with my hands, just the way I
was shown. And standing
beside the priest, I
ingest Christ (in the Mystery
of Faith) rather than sneaking off
with His Body, like a thief.

Time is suspended, every time
at the Mass. And disoriented,
I am transported,
my mind goes to Heaven,
but I dare not close my eyes,
for I might stumble,
before I sip from the cup
of the Lord’s Precious Blood.

The Feast is vivid now.
Our Father sets a mean table,
hosts a joyful celebration.
Everything sparkles,
as time stands still.
There are goblets and dishes
galore, for God’s harvest is
surely plenteous. Jeweled
pitchers are filled with fine red
wine. Good food seems endless,
smells enticing.
Gilded platters overflow—
ambrosial and delicious.

Jesus is seated
at the food-laden table,
where he holds a platter
of freshly-cut citrus fruit,
forks an orange slice, plucks
a small bunch of grapes,
then passes the platter
on to the saint at His left.
Jesus smiles then laughs,
as He converses with Peter,
Paul, and others. I recognize
many at the table, but many
more I don’t yet know.

Of course, Mary,
God’s Holy Mother, is there.
She’s the most beautiful
of the many women—
as lovely as the floral
bouquet at table’s center. She’s
soft-skinned in candlelight.
Pavarotti belts Panis Angelicus,
while seven Choirs of Angels
harmonize. Heaven’s on fire
with the Joy of the Ages.
I inch forward to look for
my place card (to insure
they expect me)

only to feel a cool draft
along the side of the church,
where, with the flock of the
Faithful, I walk back, enter my
pew, and kneel to pray. Time
moves on once again, yet I’ve
been filled with God’s Spirit,
with Saving Grace—
which, like the air we breathe
or gravity, God wants to
give freely to us all.