I come to you as I am having suffered the suffocating
silence of our (supposedly) Risen Lord, and yes, I know
Lent is past and I have tried to orient myself to the green
hope of this Season, to take a maple seed and place it
lovingly in my palm, to wonder at the tininess that can
beget a tree, O my people, but today fifteen bruised bodies
later, fifteen years of hysteria, madness, and I am weary
of the psalmist’s joy, his Blessed Assurance that he is
heard. For I have begged, dammit, I have begged to the Air
for broken bodies to rise, to see them graduate and marry
and raise laughing children, and I have seen them lying
still. So pray for me, brothers and sisters, and lay me
down softly, carry me spinning in my confusion and in
my grief through this silent sky to a promised land
-ing. The ground still seems so very, very far away.
This past Sunday one of the leaders at my church gave an Easter Reflection that took my breath away with its honesty. I felt loved and privileged to hear it, to be entrusted with it.
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