Wednesday after Passion Sunday

Wednesday after Passion Sunday

Statues draped in purple cloth
crucifixes covered
plaster people shrouded in veils
of an ancient and dim past
here in the church they stand
looking like next year’s models
brand new man and brand new woman
new creation waiting to be unveiled.

Underneath that purple cloth
is written the record of a glorious past
of a time when God’s very love walked among us
touching souls of flesh and blood people
of a time when signs and miracles abounded
wine flowed at wedding feasts
loaves and fishes filled the hearts and stomachs of hungry people
blind men saw the look of love on a stranger’s face
cripples walked and even danced their thank you
to the startled crowds.

It was there once
all of it alive
shaking the universe to its core.
Covered now
hidden from our eyes
it is quiet here
and the silence speaks of many things.

We are all of us shrouded in that purple cloth
all of us simply plaster people
covered with the weariness of winter
wearing 40 days of dust and ashes on our souls
frozen in our ancient shopworn ways
of doing and undoing things
stiff and proper looking neither right nor left
unwound wooden soldiers of Christ.

It is quiet in the world now
here within this purple haze
one can even here stomachs growling in Appalachia
hear children screaming
as the napalm spreads its fiery breath
running along the ground
listen closely very
hear the atoms splitting on the warheads.

It is quiet here in the church
one can also hear the spirit
stirring in the depths
the mighty spirit breathing life into all of us
that we can be those next year’s models
brand new man and brand new woman
new creation risen from the dead
signs of life and love
into a world preoccupied with death.