On Easter Sunday, we had no sermon. Instead I did a communion meditation in poetry.
Just before the eyes are opened
based on Luke 24:13-31
With leadened legs, we leave the city
leaving behind all that’s happened:
the fear, the death, the dreams unrealized;
the questions, the craziness
Away to Emmaus, away to some sanity
where life may be safer, more contained
Loss--of a teacher, a friend, of a leader--lingers.
Hopes dashed, dreams denied, plans scuttled
the road to Emmaus is an escape of sorts.
Escaping the fear for one’s own life
escaping the fear of the unknown
escaping to a more familiar place.
Memories persist
of the cruelty of crucifixion
of waiting for death to come
of scattering in fear
of wondering what is going on
A sabbath of fright,
while hiding from those
who might seek you
for a likewise fate
Wishing I were brave
brave enough to go to the tomb
brave enough to speak out
brave enough to be the disciple he taught me to be
On the road
seeking relief
and puzzling about the women
the words the women spoke
the possibility of the impossible
of death not being the end
But that’s craziness--
death is the end
final
finished
irrefutable
Everyone knows that
there’s no escaping death
it’s grip is strong and unchallengeable
Death is death
On the road to forget the death
the death of one whose death changes everything
On the road with a stranger who knows more than anyone else
who speaks words that astound and teach
Who is this, this stranger who knows so much?
Who is this, this visitor?
Lessons that I should have known
words I ought to have spoken myself
Who is this stranger who seems so at home
with broken bread?
© Gerry Brague, 4 April 2010, San Francisco
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