My Merciful Manager
hands me the ball,
and I take the mound
in the ninth inning
since our team is
ahead by one run.
I go to confession and then
devoutly pray Lectio Divina,
reflecting upon Sacred Scripture
for at least thirty minutes,
and I pitch a supersonic fastball
that crisply crackles in my
All-Star catcher’s glove --
the first hitter strikes out,
with an aggressive
swing and a miss.
Next, I receive Holy Communion,
and I swiftly snap off a
knee-buckling curveball --
the second hitter in the lineup
strikes out, frozen
like a cement gargoyle
as he watches the baseball
bend over the strike zone.
Finally, free from attachment
to every inclination to sin,
I pray an Our Father,
followed by a Hail Mary,
for the Holy Father’s intentions,
and I release a knuckleball
that dives through the air
like the Dove of Divine Mercy --
the third hitter in the lineup
strikes out, waving his bat
helplessly, hopelessly,
missing it by a foot.
Suddenly a bright star
speeds across the dark sky,
streaming red and white
in unimaginable exhilaration,
escaping the pains of Purgatory
and finding the pleasures of Paradise;
then my All-Star catcher,
the sweet Lady of Love,
leaps into my waiting arms,
joyfully embracing me
with the kiss of peace,
to celebrate yet another
heavenly save in the
Kingdom of Divine Mercy.