The weather of the heart : poems

Madeleine L'Engle bids us, in her own words, to "sit at sacrament" with her "across a strange and distant table." It is a paschal event, a meal of rememberence. Where her own hurt is cruciform, we are the more alive. When she admits arrogance in Gethsemane, we, too, remember glutting on unleavened loaves. But as she herself declares: "Never was a feast finer than this. Come, eat and drink, unfreeze and live." --Calvin Miller, author of The Singer Trilogy