THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 6. Good Samaritan (A parable, as told by Christ, Our Mother)

Good Samaritan (A parable, as told by Christ, Our Mother) ©2017 Alfred Eaker.

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 5. THE TEMPTATION OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER

The Temptation of Christ, Our Mother ©2017 Alfred Eaker.

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 4. THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER

The Baptism Of Christ, Our Mother ©2017 Alfred Eaker.

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 3. THE WEDDING AT CANA

The Wedding At Cana ©2017, Alfred Eaker

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 2. Christ, Our Mother

Christ, Our Mother ©2017, Alfred Eaker

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 1. MAGNIFICAT

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

Magnificat ©2017, Alfred Eaker (1 of 33)

Christ, Our Mother: The Good Shepherd

Christ, Our Mother: The Good Shepherd ©2017 Alfred Eaker

The Sowing of Meanings (Thomas Merton)

See the high birds! Is their’s the song
That dies among the wood-light
Wounding the listener with such bright arrows?
Or do they play in wheeling silences
Defining in the perfect sky
The bounds of (here below) our solitude,

Where spring has generated lights of green
To glow in clouds upon the sombre branches?
Ponds full of sky and stillnesses
What heavy summer songs still sleep
Under the tawny rushes at your brim

More than a season will be born here, nature,
In your world of gravid mirrors!
The quiet air awaits one note,
One light, one ray and it will be the angels’ spring:
One flash, one glance upon the shiny pond, and then
Asperges me! sweet wilderness, and lo! we are redeemed!

For, like a grain of fire
Smouldering in the heart of every living essence
God plants His undivided power —
Buries His thought too vast for worlds
In seed and root and blade and flower,

Until, in the amazing light of April,
Surcharging the religious silence of the spring,
Creation finds the pressure of His everlasting secret
Too terrible to bear.

Then every way we look, lo! rocks and trees
Pastures and hills and streams and birds and firmament
And our own souls within us flash, and shower us with light,
While the wild countryside, unknown, unvisited of men,
Bears sheaves of clean, transforming fire.

And then, oh then the written image, schooled in sacrifice,
The deep united threeness printed in our being,
Shot by the brilliant syllable of such an intuition, turns within,
And plants that light far down into the heart of darkness and oblivion,
Dives after, and discovers flame.

SEA OF ROSARIES: Our Lady Of Aparecida

Our Lady Aparecida ©2018 Alfred Eaker

Aubade: The Annunciation (Thomas Merton)

When the dim light, at Lauds, comes strike her window,
Bellsong falls out of Heaven with a sound of glass.

Prayers fly in the mind like larks,
Thoughts hide in the height like hawks:
And while the country churches tell their blessings to the
distance,
Her slow words move
(Like summer winds the wheat) her innocent love:
Desires glitter in her mind
Like morning stars:

Until her name is suddenly spoken
Like a meteor falling.

She can no longer hear shrill day
Sing in the east,
Nor see the lovely woods begin to toss their manes.
The rivers have begun to sing.
The little clouds shine in the sky like girls:
She has no eyes to see their faces.

Speech of an angel shines in the waters of her thought
like diamonds,
Rides like a sunburst on the hillsides of her heart.

And is brought home like harvests,
Hid in her house, and stored
Like the sweet summer’s riches in our peaceful barns.

But in the world of March outside her dwelling,
The farmers and the planters
Fear to begin their sowing, and its lengthy labor,
Where, on the brown, bare furrows,
The winter wind still croons as dumb as pain.

SEA OF ROSARIES: Annunciation

Annunciation (oil on canvas) © 2011 Alfred Eaker

Annunciation (Thomas Merton)

Ashes of paper, ashes of a world
Wandering, when fire is done:
We argue with the drops of rain!

Until one comes Who walks unseen
Even in elements we have destroyed.
Deeper than any nerve
He enters flesh and bone.
Planting His truth, He puts our substance on.
Air, earth, and rain
Rework the frame that fire has ruined.
What was dead is waiting for His Flame.
Sparks of His Spirit spend their seeds, and hide
To grow like irises, born before summertime.
These blue thinas bud in Israel.

The girl prays by the bare wall
Between the lamp and the chair.
(Framed with an angel in our galleries
She has a richer painted room, sometimes a crown.
Yet seven pillars of obscurity
Build her to Wisdom’s house, and Ark, and Tower.
She is the Secret of another Testament
She owns their manna in her jar.)

Fifteen years old –
The flowers printed on her dress
Cease moving in the middle of her prayer
When God, Who sends the messenger,
Meets His messenger in her Heart.
Her answer, between breath and breath,
Wrings from her innocence our Sacrament!
In her white body God becomes our Bread.

It is her tenderness
Heats the dead world like David on his bed.
Times that were too soon criminal
And never wanted to be normal
Evade the beast that has pursued
You, me and Adam out of Eden’s wood.
Suddenly we find ourselves assembled
Cured and recollected under several green trees.

Her prudence wrestled with the Dove
To hide us in His cloud of steel and silver:
These are the mysteries of her Son.
And here my heart, a purchased outlaw,
Prays in her possession
Until her Jesus makes my heart
Smile like a flower in her blameless hand.

SEA OF ROSARIES: OUR LADY OF THE WOODS

OUR LADY OF THE WOODS ©1994 ALFRED EAKER

Winter’s Night (Thomas Merton)

When, in the dark, the frost cracks on the window
The children awaken, and whisper.
One says the moonlight grated like a skate
Across the freezing river.
Another hears the starlight breaking like a knifeblade
Upon the silent, steelbright pond.
They say the trees are stiller than the frozen water
From waiting for a shouting light, a heavenly message.

Yet it is far from Christmas, when a star
Sang in the pane, as brittle as their innocence!
For now the light of early Lent
Glitters upon the icy step –
“We have wept letters to our patron saints,
(The children say) yet slept before they ended.”

Oh, is there in this night no sound of strings, of singers!
None coming from the wedding, no, nor
Bridegroom’s messenger?
(The sleepy virgins stir, and trim their lamps.)

The moonlight rings upon the ice as sudden as a
footstep;
Starlight clinks upon the dooryard stone, too like a
latch,
And the children are again, awake,
And all call out in whispers to their guardian angels.