I take the mound     

in the ninth inning,    

and our team is    

ahead by one run.    


I go to confession and        

receive Holy Communion,        

and I pitch a supersonic fastball

that crisply crackles in my

All-Star catcher’s glove --     

the first hitter in the lineup    

strikes out, with a         

wild swing and a miss.


I pray an Our Father        

and a Hail Mary for the        

Holy Father’s intentions,    

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.    


Free from attachment to    

every inclination to sin,    

I devoutly pray Lectio Divina        

and reflect upon Holy Scripture        

for at least thirty minutes,        

and I float a knuckleball        

that darts 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.