From head to heart

Charity must begin in thought,
Just as God thought us into being,
Lest faith journeys from head to heart.
Lost are the religious
Choking scripture of meaning,
The intention of what God-breathed

For the Kingdom of God is at hand!”
The Christ of God walks the earth,
One voice cries into the wilderness,
At our crooked paths between head and heart.
Water of repentance awaits His fire,
To burn away our enmity,
that hardens our heart.
“Behold the Lamb of God Who takes away the sin of the world!”
A dove splits the air whilst a voice pervades the forerunner’s being,
 “This is my Son, the Beloved,
with whom I am well pleased.”
The Holy One emerges,
Waters of repentance,
Like water into wine,
The Dove finds its rest,
“…and his delight shall be in the fear of the Lord…With righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth.”

Resplendent is this new water,
Drawing uncountable thirsts,
“Whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. The water I shall give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life”

A carrot of eternal life,
Draws weary minds,
To look up in gratitude,
And out in forgiveness.
Mercy, compassion, unbound love,
Toward YHWH through neighbor,
Yet, whipped is the hopeful beast of Christ’s burden,
Heavy are the tired legs that follow,
Shorter is the straightened path,
Narrowing from earthly attachment,
Dripping sweat like blood,
Agony defensless to a higher will.
Joy overshadows this matter of time,
Loving God to love neighbor,
Despite pious thorns of rebuke,
Aiming their arrows of judgment,
Unaware their aiming at themselves.
Prejudice, thick like fog,
Lays heavy upon the earth,
Blinding love from head to heart,
Seeping deep into culture’s mind,
“Passing Over” narrow paths,
The insidious midst,
Suddenly parts like a sea,
Allowing comfortable and safe passage,
Within a sweeping current of prideful priests, prophets, and kings,
Righteous in condemnation,
Scourging with scripture,
Unclean! Unclean!
Lepers shunned,
Cloaking their Image in shame,
Forcing them to wander,
Into the fog.
Below the looming thickness,
Where ground and midst separate,
One can kneel and see,
As if looking through cracked glass.
Clear enough to make out,
A thin trail of crumbs,
Remnants of bread from before,
Left for the meek,
The poor,.
The weary,
The condemned,
The unworthy,
And the lonely.
The hateful labels,
etched upon them,
Find new skin
Stretching over inflections of hate,
Growing cell by cell,
Nourished in newfound viaticum.

Nourished and drawn,
Placing all hopes and fears,
In a rest to come,
When death,
The final torturous judgment,
Will have no sting.

Bit by bit,
Persevering in real food,
Conforming in slow digestion,
True mercy,
True love,
Towards True Life,
Willing to exchange,
Humiliation for pride,
Carrying a new burden,
Hewn of wood,
Their Savior carried.
The crooked road within head and heart,
becomes clearer,
Seen through a legacy,
Bowing now to follow,
Instead of later in judgment.

‘Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”



A plea for solidarity,
Strengthened by The Hidden,
Convicting of us Truth,
Courage to hold the pain in,
To see diversity’s sacred Image,
Not as scapegoats of judgment,
Ridicule, and unworthy wrath.
Called to become One Body,
United in its glistening array,
Daring to believe,
Challenged to hope,
Choosing to love God.
A race sharing a DNA,
Bearing unpredictable complexity,
Glowing wonders of uniqueness,
A Creator’s Bouquet,
Always extracting to His Glory,
What humanity cannot reason,
But only trust.
Help us Spirit
Bring light to every Image,
So those blinded may see,
And Your Splendid Dignity.
Write Your Law of love,
On hearts hardened by stone Laws,
To love neighbor,
Without false Piety.
Come O Hidden God,
Spouse of the Immaculate Heart,
Gushing forth twixt Son and Father,
Unlock our black and white prisons,
Crush our counterfeit Christianity,
Give our ears proper discernment,
To hear His saving words,
Forgive them Father,
For they know not what they do!
Awaken the generations,
Adoring Mary’s Song,
…on those who fear Him.
He has shown might with His arm,
He has scattered the proud in the conceit of their heart.
He has put down the mighty from their thrones,
and has exalted the lowly.”
Help us be still,
To contemplate,
Both conceit
And the lowly.
Pour out Your Wisdom,
Stretch our narrowness,
To hold the tension of diversity,
Inspite of our limited rationale,
Beyond our thin, slippery grap of theology,
Broaden our thighs of understanding,
So we may deliver knowing, not knowledge,
Reclaiming the seed of true religion,
Breaking soil in shoots caring for widows and orphans,
Growing into an inclusive shade,
For all sinners,
Soon feasting on its fruits, wildberries of solidarity become daily bread,
wine drawn from its roots.
For truly, truly I tell you, this very tree was once cut down, dried, and offerred to us as fuel fore divine flames,
A wildfire of Christ’s burning heart of mercy for all humanity.
True faith and unadulterated Trust,
Seeks unhesitant solidarity,
Knowing we are rescued as a community,
glittering in diversity.
Come, Blessed Spirit,

By Chris Clody

Buoyed by Grace

The burden,
Hidden from my sleeve,
Melts into a sorrow.

Liquid weight,
with each heartbeat,
Drumming for prayer.

His promise,
Unveils true reality,
Strengthening my legs,
Treading above sorrow’s abyss.

His love infuses,
Turning sorrow sweet,
Longsuffering realizes grace,
Shimmers it’s silver-lining.

Gentle Spirit,
My buoy above tears,
Baptize my heart,
For, You,
Jealous Conviction,
Eternal Love betwixt,
Father and Begotten,
Place me before,
The spear that lanced Divinity,
The saving wound,
From the Crucified’s side,
Spraying upon and through me,
His precious blood and healing water.
Dousing salvation,
Soaking in strength,
To tread
Uncountable miles,
In gratitude,
Of this gift,
Called prayer.

Chris Clody

Paper Souls

O, paper souls,
Trade for destiny,
Ephemeral treasures,
Becoming God’s enmity.

A certain John,
Who made clear the way,
This path’s priority,
This game culture will not play.

A remnant few,
The border walkers,
Standing within the breach,
Not false charity crawlers.

“False charity?”,
Impossibly real,
Preserving the poor,
Hand-outs to grovel and kneel.

For those with mouths,
Who query influence,
To choose equity,
New borders of confluence.

How long Lord?!”,
Is not the question,
Our Image answers,
Countering such bleak banter.

To be holy,
Feed the hungry,
Clothe the naked,
Justice blooms between borders.

Christian deafness,
To sarcasm’s plea,

The poor you will always have”,
Has Truth set you free?

Does love thy neighbor,
Manifest today?
Fruit of our labors?
Or is this Christian wordplay?

Honoring lips,
Singing and praying,
Comfortably numb,
Priest, Prophet, and King -sleeping.

Awaken priests!
You! Border Walkers!
Stand within the breach,
Become doers not talkers!

Proclaim prophets!
Announce my commands!
Love God and neighbor,
Speak mercy and feed my lambs!

Governing Kings!
Gather my people!
Amass resources,
Distribute to the needful.

Let’s gather in urgency,
Spread a table for all people,
To reach out in divergency,
And pray to fly with wings of eagles.

Eternal Word, only begotten Son of God,
Teach me true generosity.
Teach me to serve you as you deserve.
To give without counting the cost,
To fight heedless of wounds,
To labor without seeking rest,
To sacrifice myself without thought of any reward
Save the knowledge that I have done your will. **

By Christopher Clody

** Prayer for Generosity
St. Ignatius of Loyola

Lost and Found

He pines…
A sense of unrequited love,
Never truly realizing,
The omniscience,
And patient,
Ever beckoning,
Of the first love,
He never knew.

Ever devolving,
With Alzheimer’s mistress,
Searching for connections,
Stumbling to fight,
Medication’s fog,
Squinting for a memory,
Of a sense of home,
Clutching to
an ever-spinning compass.

He is not “lost”,
Within this long goodbye,
Unbeknownst to,
Family and caretakers,
Sterile halls and white-jackets,
He is being brought back,
Back in time,
Through the fruit of his,
Hard work,
Love of family,
Want of justice,
Back, back…
To his baptism,
Where he will find,
True love
To gather him in,
And one fine day,
carry him home.

Chris Clody

Lord, please give me the words

In a moment,
Somewhere in everlasting time,
I am ‘caught’ within the seams,
Of TRUTH infused,
And the hill I must climb.

It is a loss to me,
To reason what I cannot fathom,
My wife’s experiences,
And beyond what I can imagine.

A chasm between,
Dreams, so beautifully shared,
Yet now, my faith bound and irresolute,
Hers, on second thought,
Outside my perspective and cares.

As a man,
A species of problem solvers,
I am not doubt blind,
Still firing blank shots,
From some justified revolver.

My aim is not to kill,
But to wound culture’s sacred vanity,
Yet, somehow, I miss,
And demonized for my ‘sanity’.

I walk in shiftless sands,
Despite my known reasonings,
Ever conscious – yet somehow flawed,
No matter the conscious of reasoning.

I feel as if,
Doubleminded has enter my soul,
One for the best of our versions,
One acceptable the Spirt,
One acceptable this cultures console.

I am an island.
Fierce in my new roots,
Beckoned to be gentle,
Yet doubting the verity of my fruits.

I must lack the fruits,
You claim that can be seen,
I feel unhinged,
By the works You profess routine.

Somewhere within this tension,
Deep beyond my infantile mind,
I crave harmony,
Yet ‘miss’ to express,
Yet, ‘expressed’ as unkind.

How often have I prayed,
Just fill my mouth with words to inspire,
Still, I feel my words toss grenades.
Within this cultures everlasting fire.

I am lonely.
I am clearly weak,
Lord give me the ears,
To express your will beyond whst vanity wreaks.

I cry out to You O Lord,
I am beyond bankrupt,
To say the words You only know,
Words beyond this culture’s rust.

Help me!
Help me Father!
Infuse Your Spirit in me,
Help me express my love.
In Your honor.

This is my prayer,
To communicate Your ‘Way’,
An in inconceivable concept,
From the life I lead today.

Pray for me my friends,
Pray that I have such stamina,
To persist in the words given to me,
With compassion and ‘in anima’,
So often I pray,
The anima Christi,
So often I reflect,
My failure and misery.

I will turn to the people you sent,
More stones stacked in my altar to You,
To hopefully guide,
ME…. To broaden my view.

Bless You Lord,
Everlasting and Almighty,
Bless You Lord,
Your servant feels bankrupt,
For words to say and eyes to see.

Forever in Your debt,
Your son,
Chris Clody 8/28/21

Beautiful Little One

My Beautiful little child,
Be brave as the hope your Mommy has,
Hold Daddy’s hand and lift a smile,
Doctors and nurses will be new friends,
And home will be this hospital for a while.

Gentle touches of love a care,
Will soothe your tears into rest,
Drifting softly hugging teddy bear,
God and angels ever present,
Called by many gathered in prayer.

Margot, teach teddy how to pray,
Press his furry paws together,
Let all the noises fade away,
For I left an angel by the door,
With smiling eyes that never stray,
Who hums your favorite lullaby,
Just for you, every minute of every day.

We love you little one.

Love Chris 7/23/21

Color stock photo of a little runaway girl holding an old teddy bear at the side of a dirt road in the rural country.

Climbing in Prayer

What brings me to prayer?
Is it not a mountain I must climb,
my innate daring desire to conquer mystique?

In the beginning,
Standing to taste a snowflake,
Freezing doubt and sweet possibility meet.

The air was silent,
Remembering to breathe through my nose,
Warming the icy shock through a simple technique,

The world’s hush broken,
from the crunch of my boots,
Ascending in hope the impossibly steep.

Quiet petitions rise within breaths,
Focusing on each inconvenience,
Challenging my thoughts, soul, and body’s physique.

Prayer is but a monologue,
a crazy man confronting only himself,
Uninterested in answers but miracles to reap.

An imagined path,
Pit falls entombed in new fallen snow,
Fearless only to the bold, mountain sheep.

Convincing myself to become like sheep,
“Baahhh!”, I laughingly yell,
My bellow goes unechoed and falls asleep.

Half-way up and arduous,
Persistence jettisons the last ballasts of levity,
Turing back – I ponder… the trampling underneath.

Doubt crushed below yet looming ahead,
This solo desire feels not so alone,
I am summit-drawn; yet…something Other calls this sheep.

Before the vanquish,
A penultimate test crouches in wait,
Joy or rejection from conquering the heap.

Ice-laden and sheer,
fingertips stretched – thinly grasping the edge,
A new prayer emerges while pulling up to peek.

Finally, rising to eye-level,
chin pushing down on ice, snow, and stone,
thrusting my right leg over I roll exhausted for sleep.

I stand to view majesty,
Upon wobbly legs and yet further confounded to hear,
One salient echo, within me and impossibly deep.

But how could an echo,
survive the wilderness of overwhelming quietude?
This echo was within, my prayer, my heart aching to speak.

This prayer was different,
A symptom of The Other’s desire,
One I cannot unhear, blot out, or release.

Maybe I am crazy,
For I felt not just alone but even seemingly held,
Yet this mountaintop experience brought me to weep.

It was thrill and joy,
Wrought by myself in this difficult climb,
Profoundly surpassed by this prayer I repeat.

My sense of self,
Disappeared – like a snowflake first tasted,
It came to me, gifting itself for strength to conquer the heap.

Looking at my knapsack,
two water bottles unopened, tucked on each side,
Unaware of thirst by ever-present snowflakes to eat.

Descending the path,
Made by the me – I can no longer recognize,
Like the desire I once chased, lays wasted and incomplete.

Understanding prayer,
Truly continues to be another mountain to climb,
Yet now the beginning is different as is the summit somehow.

Grateful for the hurdles,
Even eager to face it’s unforeseen penultimate test,
Joyfully begging for strength through snow that I plow.

Fulfillment of Desire,
Is no longer mine that I seek,
But for the One Who strengthens me in the here and now.

by Chris Clody

My Rescue

Lord, for your love,
I will joyfully extend,
a thousand acts of love,
in song,
in prayer,
and through the littlest,
hopefully invisible,
acts of kindness.

You have gently,
ever so patiently,
tuned me around,
and convinced me,
to never run away from Mercy.

No longer,
will my judgment,
shadow upon another,
and abuse Your life-giving Light.
Gone are the days of deluded coronas,
pious halos seen by the needful,
eclipsing the glare of the sun.

Now everything I see,
churning within Your splendid creation,
is at one with me.
I am whole,
quickened by Your touch,
and deeply realizing,
This Holy One You sent,
Who plunged into my baptism,
my legacy of torrents,
frothing in unmoored bias,
opposing me to Image-bearers,
pulled me away,
from a life of pitiful explanations
Within these murky waters,
that merciful glow,
from the pierced hand You sent,
in gratitude I grasped,
and despite the pull and push of slippery currents,
that gentle,
yet powerful hand of rescue,
has never let me go.

For it is He,
the ineffable Truth,
allows me to squeeze into my palm,
not by reason,
but by an alien peace,
known only by my heart,
yet, unknown, to the world I see.

I am ever grateful,
moment-by-moment surprised,
beholden to debt,
in love,
madly betrothed,
naked and unashamed,
willing to communicate,
the majestic finery,
and the abundant life,
availing in the Kingdom,
before my eyes.
Be it friend or foe,
family or stranger,
I extend my hand,
my heart,
my hope in Your faithfulness,
to draw them near,
expressing out stale airs of judgment,
so that only love remains.

O Blood and Water,
which gushed from the heart of Jesus,
as a font of mercy for us,
I trust in You!

by Chris Clody