Gideon’s Vision (a meditation)

That wet cool air which comes over mountain stones-as Gideon gazes over the fields

Of the enemy,

Was it as this Irish hillside in rain

in these forgotten spaces where G-d calls a man into

Threshing. This one was the self proclaimed least-from the lowest clan on earth.

Or so it seemed. As was Jeremiah; as was David; as was Benjamin-but this one


A man who needed a sign to know, so

Here appears the Angel of The Lord to bring fire from stone

And fire comes as on the ones scattered in the sun

Even their bones in disbelief

To which Ezekiel saw and spoke

Words of life to noone.

I am the son of noone

And we are marching to Zion

(a mountain, not unlike this)

The place where He is-any place where He is-

The celts call sacred.

But we have come to know that only He

Is Holy-that Pure is where He is.

And we worship after

the placement of His Foot-we remember that

Where He is moving we are

And I was named before my birth, called

Like this cool passing Irish hillside

Where once a man like Gideon stood

And believed.

The fleece went wet then dry

He wanted to be sure it was God

chasing off the marauders

Of His promised spaces.

So He asked, and blew his trumpet

And unified his people, and broke jars

With the stones of this hillside.

A great man not mentioned in faith’s list of fame

A thresher from the start

Who couldn’t believe

God had forgotten

What He said.


Was it Patrick who, placing on his bejeweled belt

Leaned out over this valley as if

Over the mouth of a great dragon, saying

“I felt His Presence in these stones.”

And so we trace each twig back to Him

Each face becomes a friend

Each hillside a recollection

Each conversation turns towards Him

As each stone inherits a name

Which waits like this hillside to be


This day, I will not stop tracing each thing

To its core, until I hear it-until the enemy scatters

And we know

Who is faithful to sustain.

Jesus, already the rocks tremble

And this hillside remembers

Whose it is.

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