Dear Lord, though None is now
over, one of Your cloistered
faithful remains behind. Slightly
hunched at his choir stall, he
lingers in Your name. At my
kneeler, I too linger and hunch
in Your name: whisper up motorcycle
offerings and askings.
This afternoon, Lord, I offer
You warmth: the morning warmth
of my helmet under the sun during
the ride that got me here, and
the warmth of head and forehead
under the same sunned helmet of
the same morning ride, and the
warmth of the edible air, and
the blinding warmth of sun kisses
on mirror rim and on handlebars
and on odometer chrome.
And I offer You the warmth of
my flesh loved by the sun on my
leathers during my ride for these
moments with You. And I offer
You the burning warmth of my
motorcycle pipes and engine heated
by morning speeds rooted in my
spiritual appetite for You. And
I offer You the warmth of my
swollen hands in my riding out
the morning hours of throttle
and clutch grip, and the warmth
of my sunned riding gloves too.
And I also ask, dear Jesus. I
ask that You always be with me
despite the quiet desperado who
sometimes lives within me and
dares to test me in my daily life.
And I also ask that You whisper
to me what it is that motorcycling
and monasteries have in common,
and why it is that both together
are the perfect porridge for me.
New Melleray Abbey
Peosta, Iowa
1994