Coming and Going and Coming Again

At sunrise 

the snow was up to the chickedees’ knees 

as they waited for Denny to fill the feeder.

Every Friday that the feeder is full 

is a good Friday for them.

On Good Friday, 

we think of Jerusalem

and the rootedness of that place 

to the center of The Story.

We think of the fall of man

and restoration, the Messiah. 

Of shrieking defeat 

and incomprehensible victory 

in one weekend.

Of the ancient mysteries 

and the not-yet mysteries.

Travel is impossible now,

and we feel the uncomfortable chafing 

of being caught between 

the ancient 

and the not-yet.

Now it is afternoon. 

The birds go have come 

and gone 

and come again.
The raucous redwings
do not practice social distancing
and are wing to wing with the doves.
Peace.

I am couched, 

trying to ponder the holy 

and feeling inadequate. 

I struggle to hold my mind to task

and have recurring thoughts of cookies.

This very day eternal things are happening, 

spiritual, 

medical, 

financial, 

governmental,

things that are changing life as we know it.

Jesus seems like the birds,

coming

and going

and coming again.

When?

Feels like soon. 

Whenever, may we be ready, 

worthy because of the Good Friday sacrifice of Jesus 

and the daily grace of God.

I think I’ll celebrate with a cookie.