We show up. That is what we Christians do.
We arrive in our churches with this aching longing
to be connected to people;
while at the same time knowing from
experience that those same people will
hurt us from time to time.
We show up and we stand there with that
stiffness which comes from not wanting to
aggravate the sciatica of our spirit;
that tender nerve which bulges
from the disks of our power.
But we show up, and we stand there looking up
into the arches of the church with all their
power and chilly strength and we wonder
if God is even listening.
And with a fresh piercing of the sciatica,
we shiver in the pain and need to
reach out and grab something in order
not to collapse under the agony we feel.
But when our hands land, they meet
One hand meets the flesh of a friend’s shoulder
and the other, the meat of Jesus.
And, again, this week, there is enough
in these cold arches and this
flesh combo to take one more step
with the kind of courage which makes
the angels applaud, the snakes flee
and the lions look down in wonder at the
strength of even the weakest human spirit.