With the Popes visit the over-egging of spiritual virtue even effected me ' a dedicated atheist'.  However if you have ever read JHN his poems and his letters you could not fail to be moved

-------- ... --------

A Man of Letters

They beatified Newman, some reason to think,

A man who’s complexity beats on the mind,

This priest and philosopher poised at the brink,

Of what wit and faith have enjoined us to find.

 

You can’t read his writings and fail to conclude,

That the soul in the man was both flaming and flawed,

In full luminescence his doubts would intrude,

The shadow of sanctity less than adored.

 

A bridging to faith or just maybe a gate,

A gate to be opened but then to be closed,

A Cardinal ‘blessed’ but some will relate,

A prelate not yet as the world had supposed.

 

I think then of priests that have conjured my life,

And those that I bless from the depth of my soul,

For though caused to schism by doctrines sharp knife,

I thank those who founded me making me whole.

 

The laws of the church can be hard as a stone,

But broad liberation gives permit to doubt,

When hardened theology cuts to the bone,

We brace for the battle and hope for the rout.

 

I contemplate often ‘perhaps a mistake’,

In a world that’s corrupting our actual need,

Where love without passion is easy to fake,

And love without giving is ultimate greed.

 

And so into sacrifice, substance and saints,

An abhorrence of pride as the positives fade,

The frescos of life are what destiny paints,

And we are the making of what we have made.

 

Will god take my hand when I walk to the storm?

Perhaps when I’m ready he’ll lead me to rest,

His haven is waiting his hearth will be warm,

And close to his flame is the brightest and best.

 

Seek not revelation that bright blazing fire,

Some sharp etched direction an edict from god,

Just promise and hope both ensnared and entire,

And hope when we rest in the comforting sod.

 

For when there is nothing but faith to remain,

When both word and wit are an alloy of prayer,

Then we can at last cast away this world’s pain,

In hope full and certain that love will be there.

 

So back to John Henry enigmas and fame,

The pilgrims who stand by a disquiet grave,

The world may remember and honour his name,

But where is salvation for those who would save.

 

                                                                                    ICG