Poems

Untasted

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

The truth is that I’m pretty hungry now.
This walk from city to Emmaus has
been tiring, more than any walk I can
remember, since my heart is wrapped in grief
and fear because, you know, you’re dead and gone
and I refused to take much comfort from
the words the women shared (is it because
they’re women, now, I ask “enlightened” me?).

So I am famished when I sit to eat
with you (the you I do not recognize)
and my companion (oops, whose name I have
forgotten to report to history).
Can we get to it now? Just break the bread
and share it round, replenish my depleted
stores of stamina and strength of mind.
I’ll wait. You break. Then we can eat in peace.

Now hours and miles later, gasping with
the sweet exhaustion of a joy-filled run,
I find that you have traveled swifter yet
than I, to share the miracle of your
renewed and resurrected life. I share
the wonder that “The Lord has risen indeed;”
because I left the bread untasted on
the table when the Lord appeared to me.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 24:13-35, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, third Sunday of Easter.

Image by RvdWeyer – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27519876.

Untouched

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

[Thomas] said to them, “Unless I… put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” – John 20:25

I don’t want to make this a condition
of belief, my Friend. I don’t want
to make this a condition
of relationship; oh, no.

But.

While I don’t desire so to place
my finger on or in your wounds,
I crave in separation time your touch,
A hand, a breath, a deep embrace.

Just that.

So great a thing as that.

A poem/prayer based on John 20:19-31, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, second Sunday of Easter.

The image is The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio – http://www.christusrex.org/www2/art/images/carav10.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6804893.

Holy Week 2020: Easter Sunday

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

This is, perhaps, my way of emulating
your three days away, to let a silence
fall between a midday and a morn, to
wait and see if resurrection lifts the weary
bones once more, restores connections,
grants the boon of inspiration.

Perhaps.

But truth to tell, my risen friend,
I yearn much more that you would speak
to me and all the weary world
as you addressed your friends that night
behind the fast-closed door. Come wish me peace,
dear Jesus. Come and wish us peace.

A poem/prayer based on John 20:1-18 the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Easter Sunday.

Image of Christ greeting his disciples by Duccio di Buoninsegna – http://www.wga.hu/frames-e.html?/html/d/duccio/buoninse/index.html, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3925674.

Holy Week 2020: Holy Saturday

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

Speak to the spirits in prison, Jesus.
Speak to them words of release.

Speak to the souls behind bars, Savior.
Tell them that they might be free,
free of the cell and the guards,
free of addiction and need.

Speak to the ones kept at home, Jesus.
Tell them that this time will end.
Assure them that illnesses pass,
even if we cannot know the day.

Speak to the ones in the shackles
of greed and of greed and of greed.
Tell them their souls need not bow
to the folly of selfish pursuit.

Speak to the ones whose emotions
cannot be controlled by their minds.
Speak peace, reassurance, and comfort.
Grant them a shoulder to cry.

Speak to the braggarts and blowhards.
Persuade them the curse of their pride,
a torrent of crass self-deception
in which the Truth often dies.

Speak to the spirits in prison, Jesus.
Let all human souls find release.

The image is a detail from the upper right panel of “The Garden of Earthly Delights” by Hieronymus Bosch, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10895578.

Holy Week 2020: Good Friday

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 2 Comments

Why am I here?
Why are we here?
Why watch and ache with anguish?
Why watch and hear your anguish?

My heart skipped every time
the hammer fell. One hand. Two.
Place a nail against your feet.
Beat (no beat). Beat (no beat). Beat (no beat).

Then as the upright rose I held
my breath. The rough beam stopped
and swayed and fell abruptly.
My lungs seized at your groan.

Since then… Jeers, then silence.
Rattling dice. My God, the guards
are making plans for dinner
as above them you hang dying.

Silence, then jeers. A little
conversation now between
the three who hang and groan
and breathe their lives away.

Why am I here?
Why are we here?
Mary and Mary and Mary
(our parents shared a common taste):

We share a common taste.
We know what true love is.
We know what healing is.
We know it hangs a-dying there.

Why are we here?
Why are you there?
See, that’s the reason in the end:
Where else could you or I be?

The image is a photo of “The Three Marys” by Master of the Rimini Crucifixion, found in the National Museum in Warsaw – Photo: Own work (BurgererSF), CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20397119.

Holy Week 2020: Maundy Thursday

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / Leave a comment

[Jesus said,] “If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.” (John 13:17)

In any other year, O God, it would seem
simple enough. Remove shoes. Remove socks.
Place feet in water. Lave. Bathe.
Dry with towel.

For those few, at least, who are willing.

It was always a deceptive ease.
I rarely found the willing in an
abundance overwhelming.
“I’ll keep my dirty feet.”

Rather than let them be cleansed.

And so it falls once more
as it did so long ago.
Too few will take on “dirty work;”
too few will be cleaned.

Both cleaned and cleaners scorned.

Cleanse us, Lord, of our disdain
for cleaned and cleaners both.
May we find kinship with
forgiven and forgivers.

Perhaps you’d better wash our head and hands as well.

The image is of Jesus washing the feet of the apostles, a mosaic in the Duomo di Monreale, Monreale, Sicily, Italy. Photo by Sibeaster – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10756980.

Holy Week 2020: Wednesday

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

[Jesus said,] “You are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead…” (Matthew 23:27)

After saying this Jesus was troubled in spirit, and declared, “Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me.” The disciples looked at one another, uncertain of whom he was speaking. One of his disciples–the one whom Jesus loved–was reclining next to him; Simon Peter therefore motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. So while reclining next to Jesus, he asked him, “Lord, who is it?” Jesus answered, “It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.” So when he had dipped the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas son of Simon Iscariot. (John 13:21-26)

How might we betray you today, Jesus?

Might we eat from your dish on a holy night,
and dash from the meal to enrich ourselves,
not this time with spirit and with truth,
but this time with the thirty coins of death?

Or might we claim the role of shepherds,
offering polluted grace with unwashed hands,
ready to speak in judgement, not forgiveness,
our churches filled with dusty bones?

How might we betray you today, Jesus?
Truly we are an unimaginative people.
In nearly two millennia, we find
no more creative means to turn from you.

The artist of this image is unknown, believed to be 19th century German – Dr. Fischer Kunstauktionen, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17819714.

Holy Week 2020: Tuesday

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

“No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.” (Matthew 22:46)

I’ve got some questions, Jesus.

When will this pandemic end?
How can I prevent it from slaying people I love?
How can I keep safe from illness myself?
How can I persuade the idiots
who know the answers to these questions
and do the opposite?
How do I manage my anger
that calls my fellow creatures, “idiots”?

Will you answer those questions, Jesus?

Admittedly, I know the answers to questions
two and three. Four I’m not so clear on.
Five I’ve had to work so hard at; so, so hard.
And one: well, does it matter, really,
just how long it lasts, as long as we
respond with deep compassion?

So are my questions answered,
leaving only this:

Will you stay with me, Jesus,
in this isolation?
Will you stay with me, Jesus,
as your friends would not do?
Will you stay with me, Jesus,
despite my budding tears?
Will you stay with me, Jesus,
whatever life or death may bring?

(And I am answered: “Yes.”)

Photo by Eric Anderson.

Holy Week 2020: Monday

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

It’s all right, Jesus.
You don’t have to look.
We know what’s in the Temple –
our temples, not the one
in Jerusalem –
just the same thing you saw
that overwhelmed your soul
with rage and summoned you
to drive the money changers out.

We know what’s in the temple.
The demons that will place
economy ahead of life.
The devils that will hoard
the PPEs until they get
a higher price.
The monsters who once profited
from home foreclosures now
have charge of the nation’s wealth.

You warned us, Jesus, and we…
We have learned nothing.
People will die for others’ wealth.
People will die for others’ hubris.
People will die for others’ greed.
People will die for others’ faith,
a faith you long ago rejected.
People will die, and die, and die.
For God’s sake, Jesus, drive them all away.

The image is Christ Driving the Money-Changers from the Temple by Gaetano Previati – https://www.dorotheum.com/en/auctions/current-auctions/kataloge/list-lots-detail/auktion/12991-19th-century-paintings-and-watercolours/lotID/146/lot/2337326-gaetano-previati.html, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=65830821.

These were my thoughts last year… Plus ca change, plus ca meme chose…

Go into the Village

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied…”

Send me into the village, Jesus.
I’d really like something useful to do.
Hanging around you lately
has been something of a strain.

First we had those children bugging you –
well, us – and then you missed
the perfect chance to call a
wealthy ruler as disciple.

You might have promised we would have
a seat of power in glory, but…
we’re mighty low on dinners, Lord.
I’d even eat a camel.

I’m also less than charmed to hear
that God is like the sorriest
employer ever known, who pays
all workers just the same.

And then, sweet Jesus, you would go
and say that we are on our way
into this city so that we can watch
you die. I just can’t even.

So give me something useful I can do.
Amidst the cheers and hollers,
above the leafy carpet,
I still hear your words to James and John:

“You will indeed drink my cup.”

Ah, Jesus.

You didn’t mean a royal chalice, did you?

A poem/prayer based on Matthew 21:1-11, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Palm Sunday.

Painting by Lars Wikström/Ryttare (1800–1865) – Biblia Dalecarlica 1965, målat av Lars Ryttare 1830., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6823191.