It is strange for us to gather here
remembering the death of God again
you’d almost think it would weary him to die so often
shed his blood
just to say to us it isn’t make-believe
it’s not an instant replay
not a tv re-run
and sometimes I even catch myself saying
I know how it ends
you see he rises from the dead
but I won’t spoil it for you.
Strange that we should gather here
we the living who seem so sure of everything
sure that the death of Jesus means something
when the death of someone loved leaves us lost and lonely
dazed and sorrowful
when our father mother husband wife dies
we are not so sure.
I wonder if Jesus is so sure
that his death has made the difference
when he sees us crowding into churches to mourn his death
while he is dying on the battlefields alone
or dying of a broken heart
in some God-forsaken run-down rooming house
or staring at some babbling flashing Goodwill tv set
in an old age home
while his family is gone to church.
Still the habit strangely draws us to this church
to one another’s comfort in this time of sorrow
death has bound the living closer still
love has reached across the void
all the children have come home
to find each other in the silence of death.