Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The icicles hung on the eaves outside
But the adams were gone on retreat
The caretaker said ‘only God is inside
And there’s nothing here you can eat’.
The chapel was silent, oppressively still
The cross hung above the enclosure
Hard benches on the nave’s narrow sides
And next to them more than one crozier.
Not a voice in the room, not a bird in the air
The winter wind outside kept blowing
The caretaker said ‘only God is inside’
But if so, why wasn’t he showing?
A widow quite wizened and left all alone
Entered as if on cat’s feet,
Slipping right past me and kneeling right down
She entreated while being discrete.
After time had slipped by, she quietly left
A sweet smile creased her old face
In a voice barely audible, pointing within
“Surely God’s inside this place’
Sun rose Easter morning, casting its pall
The mourners raced to the tomb
The stone was rolled back, no body within
And nothing relieved their gloom.
Yes the tomb it was empty, God didn’t abide
But the angels had a strange story
‘He’s left the building, so fear thee not’
But they fled, struck dumb by the glory.
Does absence of presence, or presence of absence
Really prove he rose and abides?
Or was it encounter with Jesus himself,
The outsider who now dwells inside?
The bells tolled twice, calling to prayer
The sky was Carolina blue
‘Inasmuch as he did it for the widow this day
He’ll do it again for you’.
I put on my jacket and braced for the cold,
The caretaker smiled as I passed,
“I told you that God only dwells inside
And I guess you believe me at last.”
Jan. 27th 2009 Weston Vermont
Posted by Ben Witherington at 11:18 AM
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I like the play on the word "inside", a very amospheric poem.
Love the first photo(they are all great), exceptional!
The words too, are exceptional.
God is where His Word is. Inside, outside, it's all His. Inside of us...outside of us (in those who we server).
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