Wednesday of Holy Week

Lots of activity this week, of course.
Many, many beautiful words arranged to bring intolerable events into acceptable focus.
But today some space, to think, to waken to the familiar realisation that Lent is behind me, but the great changes I'd hoped for remain, predictably, out of sight,over the horizon.

I'll come to the cross, as usual, with all the mess and muddle intact,- because that's the only way I can ever come.
As myself.

And, since the message of the season for me has been "Stop trying so hard" I offer this as today's poem in the hope that we may all open our hands to catch grace by chance.


Easter Duties - Elizabeth Jennings

They are called duties. People must confess
Through garlic-smelling grilles or in quiet rooms,
All the year’s mis-events – unhelped distress,
Griefs lingered over, accidie in dreams,
And hear the words which bless

And unbind, eat the bread and feel the cross
Hurting only a little, hinting more.
Why do I feel, in all these acts, a loss,
As if a marvel I had waited for
Were a cheap toy to toss

Away, the giver gone? Why do I care
In this uncaring? I need gods on earth,
The wonder felt, sleep which I somehow share
Because it is a going back to birth,
And yes, I want to bear

Anticipated laughter, jokes which once
Meant calibre and bite but did not make
Anyone sad. Prayer yet could be a dance
But still a cross. I offer small heartbreak,
Catch grace almost by chance.