On the Prospect of Not Celebrating Easter this Year

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On the Prospect of Not Celebrating Easter this Year

Will Christ not rise again

This year

For us?

 

Is he in fact

Still

Dying among us?

In those succumbed

To COVID-19.

 

Or is he

Still

Dead?

Is he in the tomb

With us?

Quarantined from life

Before rising

Infected and decaying

With the virulence

Of toxins?

Of needy-greedy panic

Grabs at shopping shelves?

As panicked voices

Constantly ask questions

What about this?

Or that?

What now?

What now indeed.

 

Will there be no people

As the body of Christ

Holding their candles

Light in the Lord?

Signs that Christ

Has risen

And shines

In us and

Among us?

 

Or are we consigned

To private piety,

In our own place,

So foreign

To genuine faith

That seeks to hold us together

As parts of the body

Of the Risen Lord?

What of this distant,

Isolated,

Seclusion?

Dying alone

In the dark

And waiting

In the tomb?

 

When will we rise?

When shall we hear?

Magdalene’s cry:

“I have seen

The Lord!

And heard his voice!

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 21 March 2020

 


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Out on the Pier

We all know people who feel alone in the plight of their pain. Some are beset by tragedy.  Some tortured by their own struggle within.  This is dedicated to those people we all know.  It is particularly for those who feel they ‘must keep it together’.  Or, for those who, because of their role, struggle to find the forum where their vulnerability is allowed to be tended.  May they find someone to sit with them ‘on the pier’ and listen to their voice with the honesty of accepting them as they are. 

Out on the Pier

Out

On the pier

Sitting,

Hunched over knees,

Hugging the shins,

As windy rain seethes

Upon the skin,

Smarting, like the rasp of wet sandpaper.

Bottom,

Tensely perched

On the damp, weathered timbers.

The fading light

Of dusk slowly settles

As if taunting a small hope

But washed to a slow fade.

The painful alone,

The unreachable

It wears down

Who can listen?

Who can companion?

On this bleak verge,

This precipice above the foaming frenzy

Of ever blackening waters.

Driven from the inner sanctum,

Away from the competent,

The cocky and the compliant.

Weakness is not appropriate

Except in clinical mode

To designated ‘professional ears’.

Watched by the umm-ing and arrh-ing of superiors.

Can peers perch with us

On this perilous pier?

Logic and decency says they could

But existentially

Can we let them in?

Do we risk weakening them more?

Letting the side down?

Not ‘taking one for the team’?

So,

We sit upon the pier,

Waiting for the weather to change,

Willing the weather to change.

The sun will rise tomorrow.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 11 April 2014

 

 

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