After

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Photo credit: Tim Nafziger

By Dee Dee Risher

Oh incarnated one,
who is mystery and nurture,
calling our names
while we are outside, weeping;
walking the road
with those who are in grief,
being known in the breaking of bread;
cooking breakfast on the beach…

You step into our locked rooms,
our closed doors, to whisper:
Peace.
Peace, I give you.

But then I must take it,
this uneasy gift.
How to take this peace,
and carry it? A ribbon of bird song,
cool like water,
strong as a stone, yet
holding this world lightly?

We never recognize you
at first glimpse. We are
caught in our grief or fear;
trapped in our predictable lives and scripts.
You break in, your care like gentle thunder
rolling in from the valley.

Suddenly the rain comes,
falling slowly on parched ground,
And we find we have
just what we need
slipped into our pocket.

Wander me out into this day,
looking for you, oh incarnate Jesus,
using all my senses to recognize you.
Come travel with me, so that I may also
breathe peace,
troubling peace,
into this world.

 

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