They sent for you, dear Simon, Cephas, Petros: You’re the Rock. They sent for you, dear Simon, when their dear Tabitha had died.
Oh, what if they’d called me?
My heart would have been pounding in my chest so loud the village could have heard. Why send them all away (except to miss my failure)?
Oh, what if they’d called me?
A prayer. A tender summons: “Tabitha, get up!” That heart whose love so overflowed is beating even louder than my own. Look, she lives!
Oh, what if they’d called me?
Did you feel you were holding Jesus’ place? Did you ache for the Master’s steady poise? Did your heart falter before hers revived? How did you dare to call her name?
Oh, what if they’d called me?
A poem/prayer based on Acts 9:36-43, the Revised Common Lectionary first reading for Year C, Fourth Sunday of Easter.
From the Wikimedia Commons description of the photo: “The Sarcophagus of Marcus Claudianus (ca. 330-335, Palazzo Massimo, Rome): Detail, The Arrest of Peter. Peter is taken away by two soldiers in pillbox hats. On the left, the person pointing to Peter is most likely Herod, who orders his arrest in Acts 12. Or possibly the rolled-up scroll in his hands signifies that he is the high priest who orders all the apostles imprisoned in Acts 5.”
In shadow I approach you, Lord. Though other times, I would embrace the light this morning I will seek the dark avoiding watching hostile eyes.
An alleyway for shelter, then moon shadow of an overhanging roof. Step slowly, lest a watcher spot the motion of my furtive form.
I make this journey into shadow, Lord, as you embraced the darkness not three days ago, and gasped that it was finished to the broken beating of my heart.
And now, one shadow still remains, a deeper blanker blackness that should not be there. My heartbeat hammers in my throat to see
an open tomb.
A poem/prayer based on John 20:1-18, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, Easter Sunday.
Photo of the lunar eclipse of January 31, 2018, by Eric Anderson.
That’s not the shout of “preacher in a panic,” that. Nor is it Jesus’ commentary on a new disciple who, all eager, failed to strip the palm tree of its fronds to deck the road for his approach.
I might imagine, though, the sad and smiling faces of the other gospel writers who, whatever else they may have written right or wrong, included palms upon the road up to the city’s gate.
At least there’s clothes and cloaks to lay beneath the feet of this strange-sought, strange-borrowed colt, who probably could do without the noise and would prefer the eat the absent fronds.
No, Luke, the colt does not awaken my concern, nor do I worry that its burden misses leaf and branch. Instead, imagination balks to think of waving clothes, not palms, upon this Sunday morn.
Oh, yes. Imagination balks.
We’ll wave our palms, dear Luke, not clothes. But really: how could you forget the palms?
A poem/prayer based on Luke 19:28-40 the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, Sixth Sunday in Lent. In Luke’s account of Palm Sunday, he does not mention any palms.
I’ve never worried before, O God, about the younger son’s repentance. I’ve always gratefully assumed he walked the roads of sackcloth and of ashes. What a shock his father’s welcome must have been!
But now… I wonder.
Was he another twister of the truth? Was he another one who turns the world around his little finger? Did Narcissus blush with shame at his temerity, his lies? And did the pounding of his heart betray his gratitude or hidden glee?
And now… I wonder.
In that Great Somewhere, do you wait for me? Do you wonder when I’ll lay aside deceit – delusion sweet for me, unwitting lie to you – and truly bring my starving soul back home? Does the pounding of my heart betray my gratitude or deeply hidden lies?
Yes now… I wonder.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 15:1-3, 11b- 32, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, Fourth Sunday in Lent.
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