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Reflections of an unabashed political and social radical, Christian Anarchist, Activist, Gen-X poet, and Episcopal Friar

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PunkMonk San Francisco

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Sandals at the Gate

Holy Saturday

April 15, 2017 Br. Karekin Yarian, BSG

For this darkness of our exile sooner ended;
    Rain down like light on earth’s last lonely edge.
For this vast sky, its cold indifferent stare;
    Rain down like heat that rages from a furnace.
For this vain work that wastes our fragile home;
    Rain down like sweat upon the courtyard stones.
For our needful cries in silence met;
    Rain down like echoes in the cavern-void.
For these bare hearts of animated clay;
    Rain down like water pulled up from the deep.
For these deserts where we’ve mourned
    our broken gods;
    Rain down like cooling breath on these strands.
For those we’ve bound in endless chains;
    Rain down like blood, a river-staining plague.
For this flesh become a banquet of delights;
    Rain down like wine poured from a lonely cup.
For these empty hearths of ash and loneliness;
    Rain down like bread of angels in our wandering place.
As one sun rises, eagerly, as it has always done;
    Rain down into these hearts that, reaching, strive.

Now, in this hour, when our mourning work is done; 
    our sorrow wept upon the table
    through these clasped and ragged hands, 
    remain with us. These courts we enter pleading:

LIGHT of all-enduring light we pray as in an upper room: upon the threshing floor of these poor hearts, we listen for a word that gently winnows, and wait to catch a glimpse of tongues of fire to ignite these hearts burst open by the love of one who animates the spheres.

 

(c) 2016, Karekin M Yarian, BSG

← A Psalm of Lament, A Brief Lesson, and a Respond"Behold, Your Mother" →
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