Meeting new folks without leaving the pew

One of the great things about our faith is the Communion of the Saints.  I like the fact that I am as closely tied spiritually to Ruth of the Old Testament, St. Edith Stein, and my niece in DC as I am to my sisters that I talk to almost daily.  God's time, since it is eternal, doesn't have any boundaries like our time does.  Death holds no boundaries for our souls, since they are eternal.  We are all truly one in Christ.

That means, when I'm pondering the writings of a great soul before Mass, she may as well be sitting next to me, whispering in my ear.  Isn't that a terrific thought?  I don't know much about Gertrude von le Fort, but she was whispering in my ear this morning.  I know she was German, a Huguenot and a convert to Catholicism.  She was born in 1876 and lived through the Holocaust.  She was a writer;  her best-known work is The Song of the Scaffold.  (I found other writings of hers on the 'net, but a lot was in German.  I don't know if this means she hasn't been translated much, or if I wasn't looking in the right place.)

This is what she was whispering in my ear this morning:

Return to Church

I am a branch on an uprooted stem, but your
   shadow lies
on the treetops like a forest glade.
I am a swallow that could not find its way home in
   the autumn, but your voice is like the rush of
      wings.
Your name rings like the name of a star.
As far as my eye can reach there is no image that
   resembles you.
You are a lovely column amng dead ruins.
You are a noble beaker amongst idle potsherds.
Kings must fade before you and armies grow pale,
   for the wind is their brother, but your brothers
      are rocks.
Who shall not presume to speak as you speak?  Would
   he not be destroyed by the wrath of the Most
      High?
You lift your head to heaven and the crown of it is
   not singed.
You stride to the borders of hell and your feet are
   unhurt.
You profess eternity and your soul is not afraid.
You order certainty and your lips are not silenced.
Verily clouds of angels must be encamped above
   you and storms of cherubim must cover you.
For you flower in your pride like a palm in the
   desert, and your children are like a field of ripe
      grain.

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