Venn Diagram of Paradise

The psalmist promises a perfect place,
where kindness and its sibling rival, truth,
can meet—but how and in whose fantasy?
Where justice, high and tough, with humble peace
may kiss—but, my Lord, through what mystery?

How can one stand for truth and still be kind
when people, when not evil, are quite mad;
when what we hewed to once is tossed aside;
when justice is ignored, unrecognized;
when peace is but a paltry nom de passe?

These questions have bedeviled me for years,
confronted with what’s right in front of me—
you know the field: your family, your friends . . .
I wish to be an instrument of peace,
while watching madness sad when not just bad.

But I—do I wield truth? Is justice mine?
I haven’t got the grip, the agency.
I think I do, but pride in thought’s not fact;
and like St Paul I don’t do what I ought.
I make a sorry hash of making right.

Still, two more lines round off the psalmist’s verse:
that truth springs from the earth like wood and rock,
while justice looks down fondly from above.
And in this couplet quick I find some hope,
as if someone were letting down a rope.

This verse from Psalm 85 has been a focus of my soul searching for several years. It came up again in the mass readings for Saturday, July 4:

Kindness and truth shall meet;
justice and peace shall kiss.
Truth shall spring out of the earth,
and justice shall look down from heaven.

The final line of my poem is lifted from a manuscript by my daughter, Marian Bull. Check out her substack here.