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.