Bread on the Floor

By on July 18, 2016 in News & Musings

Being a church community means we get to share our joys and sorrows with each other. When these relationships are healthy and honest, we don’t have to carry anything too heavy all by ourselves. Zion does this sharing and caring with such humor and grace. 

The hard stuff seems to come in waves. We will go months – almost a year! – without a funeral or a new diagnosis in our midst and then there is suddenly grief and illness in handfuls. Many loved ones at Zion have received hard news or are grieving new losses this season and, while this is never easy, we keep it simple by carrying these things together. We move through worship and the week trusting God and trusting each other. We pray and serve and call and rest and feel things together.

We are grateful to Brad, who has shared his poem below as a gift to all who wait or suffer at Zion this season. You are not alone. We are all asking and wondering and walking in it with you. May his words bring some affirmation or comfort.

Remember also that Zion hosts a conversation about Grief and Loss: As the Result of Losing a Loved One on Third Wednesdays each month. That’s this week, July 20th at 6:45pm in the Fireside Room. All are welcome.

 

Bread on the Floor

How? Why? If? When?
I pled for answers then,
To nearly wordless questions,
From One who needs
Not even words.

But once again, silence—
Silence like an empty room.
Do You hear me? Are You even there?

A helpless sermon ends,
Then with ancient words,
The Meal begins.

Yet all I hear, as I stand waiting to receive,
Are screeching brain words—
Like heckling crows—
Drowning out all words,
But their own.

Then…there…on the floor…
Broken bread/body of Christ,
Dropped/unseen.
Soon stepped on, crushed,
And disappeared.

Is that You beneath/behind
That unholy image—
Using what is for words?

Though same as God,
You emptied/humbled yourself and came,
To be our Bread of Life.

One foretold You, man of suffering—
Stricken, wounded, crushed—
Then from the land of living cut off.
Oblation for us to save,
Then somehow resurrected
From the grave.

So, How? Why? If? When?
Does it really matter then?
When those I love (and someday I),
Journey also to that place—
There You have already been,
And there we see Your face.

Lo, You are with us always,
And for now, it is enough.

 

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