Monday, November 25, 2019

Learning Lament

We cannot speak the language of faith,
From the deepest place, the heart and the root of our being,
Till we learn the language of lament,
The language of our broken, needy world.

Yes, the gift is freely given,
But the road
Is still the path of pilgrimage
The Via Dolorosa,
Pursuing our Lord
And walking after him –
He who already holds us fast.

This is a world of stones –
Stone altars, stoning, stony wilderness,
The stone-hard hearts of men
Who only give
Hard stones instead of bread.

Down there, down there,
We must take the light,
The light that we have seen,
The Light who is our Love.
There in the dark
Take hold afresh
Of him,
Our only anchor place.
Reaching out
To grasp a flailing wrist,
Skeletal, dreadful,
A hand outreaching from the lowest place,
To where we stand on tears,
In tears proclaiming,
God is already here.

How can they know
Unless we walk the darkness by their side?

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