Gospel Challenge, Week 1

I've kind of given myself a challenge (we'll see how long that lasts!) to write at least one poem a week, using the Gospel for that Sunday as a jumping off place. That will keep me writing AND perhaps get me back in Scripture in a different/new way. I'll post them on Monday mornings.

So, yesterday was my first challenge, and TWO poems came from that Gospel.  The first, written before church.

The Blame Game

When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him,

she knelt at his feet and said to him,

“Lord, if you had been here…”

John 11:32

Lord, if you had been here…

if you had only been here when
     Barton’s and Courtney’s lives spun out of control,
if you had only been here when
     Monica determined, “Enough is enough,” left, and took Joe with her,
if you had been here when
     Laura walked out on Mike, broke his heart, and shattered his body…

That’s what I’m tempted to say Lord,
Where were you?
Then I could let the blame rest
at your feet.

But my theology tells me you were here,
and still my family broke,
still my children suffer,
still my heart aches.

Sometimes I wonder what good God is…

Then you turned the table...
     “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”

Shit, Lord, that’s not fair.
I believed, I believed so damn hard,
and it all broke anyway.

So, is this what your glory looks like?
a garment torn to pieces?
from singing to ashes?
If so, it sucks.
If not, then what?
What will your glory look like in the lives of my children
   and my grandchildren?

Do I believe?
I believe Lord, help me in my unbelief.
Now,
     where are you Lord?

The second poem, inspired by the Gospel being read at church.

Guha*

Settled in her quiet space that dreary gray morning,
pen and paper in hand,
she read the Gospel for the day,
     John 11:31-44.

In her own dullness,
eyes blinded by fear and despair,
all she saw was blame:
     Mary’s, “...if you had been there…”
     His own, “...if you believed…”

Her heart a cave*
a stone lying against it.
Bitter tears fell,
hot anger flowed thick black ink on the page.
She wrote, The Blame Game.

The priest read from the same Gospel later that morning
and the stone was rolled away.
“Father, I thank you for having heard me. I know you
always hear me.”

Faith means someone sees.
The leaf continues to float down the river.
She leans into the flow.

(Faith, by Czeslaw Milosz, from the Separate Notebooks: Poems, translated by Renata Gorczynski, Robert Haas and Robert Pinsky, Ecco Press, 1984)