Sulmasy takes his title from the spiritual sung in his Harlem parish:
There is a balm in Gilead
Twice now during the past week, a squirrel has eaten away parts of my windowsill and gnawed four-inch holes in the screen to facilitate its entry to my house.
Yes, I have read with appreciation Mary Oliver’s poem Making the House Ready for the Lord (9/25). Come in, come in, she says to animals seeking shelter as winter dawns on a snowy world.
And what is my response? Unlike the poet, I have for God’s creatures who live out there in my yard a lesser and imperfect love that stops upon my doorstep. Beyond that boundary I offer a crust of last night’s pizza, nuts and suet, apples, whole wheat bread crumbs. To these you are welcome. Help yourself, I say, but keep your distance. This house is mine. For the limits to my hospitality, may the Lord forgive me.
And another thing: Stop digging up my daffodils.
Katharine Byrne