Lent 40

(hopscotch-counting)

 

Try again

Sometimes it’s hard

Though not harder and less rewarding than

A life inside a cage

Kept without a lock

 

Some count the season from day one

As I have counted

Some take out Sundays, a timeslip in

The forward flow of days

Any days that might allow for

Contrary feasting

Some leave the season longer

And forty is a metaphor

For wilderness experience

 

If we count forty from first Wednesday

We are here today

Triumphal entry, as it’s said

As songs are sung

As palms are waved in happiness

And salutation

For the one who’s here

 

While our invested time is closing

A passion time begins

When blood with flow with water

In a garden, on the streets, and

Later on a cross

 

What have we done?

What do we do?

How many who are cheering now

Will spit the words out later

Broken of humor into mocking?

How many will be caught

And tried by Caiaphas

With a nod to Pilate?

How many, at least, will try war

The worldliest of ways

In bids for freedom

With endings still debated in

The courts of heaven?

 

Well, we have something

We have had our season

And know without expectation

Any more than making

That another season follows

It’s today

The end and the beginning

Celebrate

But keep the palm fronds close

Maybe contrive a reminder

For the window sill

Over which we view into

The next spate of days

And on into forever

 

Take us with you

Some things we do alone

So many more need not

Go that way

We may go another

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Peter Fogden on Unsplash