Though it is later in coming by reckoning of the calendar, I’d like to share a poem I wrote several days ago. Inspiration drenched my heart over the course of Good Friday, but it took a bit for the words to cement in my mind. I hope reading it will bless you now. For the truth held within is applicable every day of the year.
Recalibration: Light from the Narthex
This day — a Friday —
Was good in it’s way. Busy
And stressful, packed weekend
Ahead. Before the full-day rush
Ensued and my to-dos became
A blur, I awoke: my fingertips
Against my husband’s back. Skin
To skin in light so dim through
Dusty blinds. I savored that feather
Touch and marveled at the quiet.
This day — a Friday —
Marched on while I drove
About and stopped to load
My car’s trunk with groceries,
Flowers, household supplies. And
To load its tank with gas. All
Of that a growing strain with
Inflation’s scream. But, still, costs
Covered made my thankful heart
Smile towards the cloudless sky.
This day — a Friday —
Ticked by in tasks. Grading
Submitted essays — some final
Drafts still so painful to read.
“God bless my students,” I sighed,
“For they tried…I guess.” Then
There was music to practice and
Cleaning to do. And a dozen
Other things too. So I yawned a
Prayer for energy to do them.
This day — a Friday —
Declined towards evening under
Strains of viola-bass-piano as
I looked out over the sea of my
Family, their faces towards me,
Our voices harmonizing, celestial,
In a minor key. In their midst, from
My stage spot, I spied the cross,
Narthex stained glass, set aflame by
Western rays. I gasped, amazed.
This day — a Friday —
My forty-second “Good” trip
Around that illuminating sun —
Found me enlightened at the
Depths of my need and my
Humility. I was blinded,
Temporarily, by light so bright
And beautiful though the very
First such Friday was only good
Due to cross covered in shadow.
This day — a Friday —
Was good for me. But somewhere
A young widow woke up to stretch
Across the bed in her skin hunger.
And somewhere a mother cried
Because she had no food to
Offer her starving child. And
Somewhere a skilled teacher lost
His job unjustly, walked home and
Wondered how he’d now provide.
This day — a Friday —
Was not good for my Jesus,
Not as we understand the word.
He longed for dear touch and
Received torture. Hungered
For sustenance and tasted bitter
Wine. Laid down His rabbi’s
Duties and honor for branding
As a criminal. Dwelt and died:
Deserted, naked in the dark.
This day — a Friday —
I have stood in the glow of my
Blessings yet been overwhelmed
By sorrow for all those suffering —
And all our wrongs — so I pray for
Them to join me, to look into the
Light and yet also recall the
Nightfall at mid-day when the
Man of Sorrows redefined good
By knowing best our pain, sin, shame.