Saturday, April 11, 2015


“Keep me safe,
O God,”
I sing.
“Keep me safe;
you are my hope,
my God.”
I sing
“Keep me safe” in the shower,
while I bake muffins,
at the wheel,
why, I don’t know.
I’ve just learned the hymn
for the Triduum,
and it itches in my head

I sing, though, without expectation
of protection for myself.
I don’t find Christ
in the trappings
of the traditional Church—
gold-fringed red collars,
crystal toppers for candles,
a large monstrance.
Heresy, maybe, to some,
I know.
Impiety, at the very least,
that forfeits petition.

I do find Christ in people—
my husband’s killer questions,
my son’s integrity,
my daughter’s strength,
my son’s courage,
my colleague’s compassion,
a student’s struggle,
the lab tech’s kindness,
the cashier’s fatigued eyes.
No worries.  It’s all good.

But him,
your servant,
who preached your mercy
for decades,
opened people’s hearts to you
and opened his own heart to them,
Why not keep him safe?
I wonder why,
my God, my God,
why have you abandoned him?

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