Prayer – A Remarkable Moment In Time


A chyme alerts me of sad news from a text,
A son’s friend stricken with the virus.
Oxygen levels are failing –
In dire need of a ventilator.

I am asked to pray.

Alone in the quiet I offer my heart,
Lord, You are the very breath of Life,
My strong tower and safe harbor,
send Your angels to safeguard a friend.

I know he’s in his sixties but not his name,
Left only to wonder of his heart.
Is my friend imprisoned in fear?
Or has my friend found refuge in Christ?

Prayer calls me again…

Lord, You are unchanging, therefore ever new,
You give mercy to those most in need,
Spirit come invade my dear friend,
Drench him in the gift of fearlessness

Despite the quiet, I know my heart’s been heard,
For this once stranger is now my friend,
Wherever he coughs is not far,
Today, two hearts are now bound as one.

Prayer lights compassion’s candle,
A sole, yet defiant flickering flame,
that chases away the darkness.
One flame can ignite many,
With Heaven’s hope that sets this world on fire.

Prayer will call us all.

Pray for the world.


Communion’s Mystery

You were raised on the cross,
A Lamb led to slaughter,
Sacrificing to fill mankind’s loss,
A Son’s obedience to His Father.

Gone now are the days of sacrifice,
Undone is the curse of the Law,
Satisfied is God’s vision of glory,
That crushed the grip of Death’s claw.

Holy is the seed You plant in us,
That must die in hallowed ground,
Trampled beneath the feet of rejection,
That plows the new wheat’s burial ground.

Long the wheat suffers within the weeds,
Waiting and watching for harvest,
Flush golden fields reflecting the sun,
Eager to rise above chaff’s darkness.

You reap sown in fruits of Your mercy,
Crushed into the bread of Your charity,
Crumbs of hope plant seeds of faith,
Reborn anew into Communion’s mystery.

by Chris Clody

Torrent of G-d

Heart shaped splash

O’ Faith,
Glistening in liquidity,
Iridescent mists covering the soul,
To flooding generations of hearts,
Moving compassion in fits and starts,
Legacies of broken rainbows,
Coloring forgotten moments,
Patiently watched by He who sows.
O’ Faith,
Gratitude knows no concessions,
To a heart that overflows,
No, I will not hold you Faith,
Rather watch you pass through,
Grace erodes a wider channel,
Indescribable joy ensues,
Feet dance to a higher will,
Hands quickened with compassion,
Brimming from holes love only fills.
O Faith,
Where would I be without you?

By Chris Clody

The Boss.

Surely man must be exposed to the light of Grace gradually, as if catching a slicing glint off distant metal from a passing reflection of the sun. We have been illumined by the knowledge that we see through the glass or possibly into the mirror darkly, while somehow knowing innately therein radiates the face of God; more appropriately – G_d. I imagine the darkening of our vision is both a blessing protecting our mortal fragility and also a mountain of love to be encouraged up. I believe, dare I say ‘know’ (umm… sorta), that holy ground awaits our tired feet atop its pinnacle. Although I have not reached the mountain provided for me, this very cross given for my betterment, my very own passion making up what Christ lacked in His perfect sacrifice, I was allowed to observe one leave his final footprints. The darkened mind comfortably rejecting the light of all men, is dazzled more by the mere foolishness of this opiate of the masses following a narrow path. The very hate of Christ is narrowly matched by the world’s rejection of humility. A thick skin does well in a capitalistic food chain whereas humility thins the skin. Maybe humility is that metaphor of glass allowing grace to glow through our shameless translucence. Despite my continuous battle to surrender layers of my vanity, greed, and pride, I was once again encouraged by introduction to both the gifts of purity and long-suffering. This holiness indwelling within a young boy who patiently bore the wounds of brain cancer, chemotherapy, and experimental procedures for five years beckoned a growing community of unstoppable prayer, burgeoning faith, and unrelenting hope. The Friday before the passion of Jack surrendered his final, shallow breath, I was allowed to sit with Jack atop his mountain. This was truly a holy place, one of peace unlike no other. The veil was thinner at this altitude while I gently rested my hand on his foot as I sat and prayed. I have watched seemingly thousands of my daughter’s soccer games, hundreds of my son’s basketball competitions, yet I have never once thought what it would be like to witness angels in anticipation. One day, when you see the beautiful blues of his glorification, I’ll let Jack tell you who else was in the room. This peace, was a reality that communed with my soul overwhelming any thought or mantra of prayer with awe and wonder. Innocence, Jack’s purity, was cleansing torrent to my rabid and restless thoughts. Although grief lingered, it paled in comparison to victory. Jack’s young and abundantly blessed parents gracefully surrendered to this bejeweled yoke of coming grief and triumph. As I prayed, the thought of St. Francis and how he led us to self-discovery as channels of peace. There, breathing in the final throes of his permitted passion, the power of the very promise of Christ, the little foot I held was not connected to a channel anymore but a floodgate of God’s capacity. I tremble more now since I was simply awestruck then. If you ever heard of the “Little Way”, then it would lift your hearts to know that Jack’s little way of purity and longsuffering to light a small town in Ohio with a peace that transcends its definition.

What started with a PrayForJack bumper sticker now begins with ‘little signs’ that JackPraysForUs.

To the clear, bright eyes that pulled empathy from my heart.
To a beautiful boy I could see as my son.
To the boy that stopped our breathing by calming his
parents with the words, “Trust in Jesus.”
To my ’little’ brother and mentor.
To The Boss
To Jack Fineske.

jack fineske

His Peace,


Mercy’s Riddle

The way to God is down, through our mistakes…not up through spiritual elitism and perfection.  Spiritual poverty is the joy in not taking ourselves too seriously.Therefore the mere concept of Divine Mercy leaves us puzzled and bankrupt in this return on God’s investment.  There is nothing that God offers as a gift that can find hospitality within our ego despite the soul’s yearnful immersion into it. The answer to this divine riddle is not simply accepting our imperfection, but embracing it as diversity, as community, as one body alive and awake.

Mercy’s Riddle

Naked and battered,
Hope’s crushing loss,
Death claims victory,
Pegged to a cross.
The soul understands,
This contradiction,
Ego fails to grasp,
Victory’s Passion.
Heaven’s inheritance,
Is riddled through mercy,
The last shall be first,
Incarnates humility.

by Chris Clody 6/19/15

Our History of Wonder

Born To Please


Unaware yet born to please,
Shedding blood in greed and fear,
Two wills, one selfish and one to appease,
Serving two masters is doubly clear
Divinity patiently waits to join us here.

Burning without destroying, man is drawn,
Confused by how this could appear,
Barefoot steps tremble on legs of a fawn,
The Irresistible orders Moses to lead on.
Ending man’s innate question with more to think upon.

Aware and finding reason to please,
A scapegoat is devised to lay their sins upon,
Yet power corrupts due to man’s disease
Laying law upon law, love is soon gone,
Replaced by our will serving our need,
Doubting even The Ten that convicts of our greed.

Undaunted and untamed, Emmanuel borrows skin,
Fragile and human, Jesus comes to feed,
Giving Himself as food for forgotten sin,
The Christ of God breaks Death’s final grin,
The grave once greedy cannot hold resurrection win.
Grace and peace, by loving God and neighbor begins.

Keys are given atop of a rock,
One day to surrender and led by an enemy’s whim,
Purity is from dross The Spirit continues the stock,
In spite of Power, soon time forgets and corruption begins,
Saints are sent while the encourage the true flock,
Laws upon laws, the slumbering are loyal yet God is mocked.

Still hope remains in the trusting souls,
Whose trust surrendered to their Redeemer’s knock,
Fearlessly led by the Anointed’s beatific goal,
Inexpressible joy is given when we relinquish control,
Loving God through our neighbor in forgiving revolt,
Until that Day of Wrath, when the Lamb pours out the bowls,

Yet, despite pious boast, regret will cover those who condemn,
Those unjustly shamed and discarded Christ collects from another fold,
For Heaven is not a room to secure to which we ascend,
But true community that weds a Groom who willingly descends.
The Bride’s “I do” is our present ‘Amen.”

By Chris Clody 5/9/15

Judge not…

no_hateWe somehow cannot escape prejudice.  Inheriting this sordid gene that enables the young, hopeful, innocent heart to harden towards another.  We seem to glisten with the sweat of hate yet wear it in vanity.  From micro-aggression to hate crimes, justification to harm another seems to allow reason to our lost herd mentality for survival of the fittest.  Even, the goodness of the Gospel has been perverted for power and oppression.  This very hope of life for all, is rather used as a weapon with hard edges as Bibles are thrown by the ignorant and unstable to hurt those in unchangeable realities.  How sad.  How destructive. Woe to them, the false preachers, the rabid born-again, instruments of harm not peace – for their destruction does not sleep.

Woe of Judgment

Woe to the ignorant and unstable,
Who grievously distort holy Scripture,
Off’ring sacrifice of Cain not Abel,
Condemning outcasts with sores and blisters,
Judging as Creator not like creature.

Woe to preachers who boast not of mercy,
Whose words isolate, ravage, and injure,
Yet are slaves to their own depravity,
The blackest dark awaits their treachery.

Hope is a saving love, your friend in need,
Harden not your hearts, Let Me set you free,
I know of your hardship and the pain you bleed.

Come to Me, you wearied and oppressed,
Lay your burdens down, for I will give you rest.


by Chris Clody 2/6/15

His Peace,