he upsets the plans, re-organizes our closets without our permission, throws out our favorite recliner, gives us pabst blue ribbon instead of samuel smith's nut brown.
worse, he takes a child.
we look up at him, squinting a little, brows tight, the corners of our mouths upturned as if to ask, "what? really?"
like abraham raising the knife over isaac, we turn our hearts to praise when it doesn't make a bit of sense. but, for isaac a ram appeared.
we break out the binoculars and scan the landscape for burning bushes. when none are found we gather a couple hundred people and light lamps in jars hoping to break them in unison, frightening the valley full of ghouls into a frenzy. when they don't respond, we wet our lips to blow the trumpets and tighten our sandals to march around the city seven times. when the walls don't fall, we find a leader and we hold up his arms to keep the sun standing still. when it moves, we send our priests into the river waiting for it to dry. when our feet get wet, we watch and pray. when we fall asleep, we search for someone to sweat blood. when all that we can muster is perspiration, we gather in a room to pray, waiting for the women to burst in crying that the stone had been rolled away when they arrived. when the silence is deafening, we turn our eyes heavenward because the last time we saw him he was rising in that direction and he promised that he'd return from there.
but it's been an awfully long time. it really has.
when it comes down to it we remember that he rose, that he is risen, just as he said.
on the rest we'll just have to wait for answers.
but, jesus wept and so can we.
2 comments:
Perfectly said.
Keep writing, Tim. You ought to start on a book.
so i should.
the discipline, however, has been lacking.
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