Manna Emily A. Ransom, PhD 1
This poem was written during the final obstacle in my seven-year journey into the Catholic Church, after I was finally ready to affirm its teachings to be true, but the local priest insisted I was not ready. Without any Catholic community to support me, believing in sacraments while being unable to receive them, I broke down one afternoon and wept for an hour onto my hardwood floor, pleading with Christ for concrete help for whatever time I would continue to be separated from the Eucharist. After I gathered composure, I wrote this poem to express that need. Immediately after I finished writing, my phone rang with an offer to the PhD program at Notre Dame. The concrete help I had begged for had come. And you were always near as air2 When I was battered in the war; But I am broken flesh,3 and your Ephemeral love won’t mend this tear. You may have spoken in the wind and tongues,4 But I would have you feed more than my lungs. And I have loved you in a way— The way a cripple loves his staff Or as a slave his master’s laugh5— At least I limpingly obey. But lest I feed your sheep6 here with a cane I’ll have to ask you firstly for the grain. And you had hinted there’d be rest, Though I have only found your yoke7; But souls that never slept awoke8 To find the thief9 become a guest. Exodus 16. A reference to the Evangelical song “Breathe” written by Marie Barnett, popular in my teenage years, which opens, “This is the air I breathe: your holy presence living in me.” 3 A reference to the eucharistic liturgy. 4 1 Kings 19:12–13; Acts 2:2–4. 5 Psalm 123:2. 6 John 21:15–17. 7 Matthew 11:28–30. 8 Ephesians 5:14. 9 Ephesians 5:2. 1 2
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