Maundy Thursday Prince

4/5/23

“LORD, let me

let you

love me.

 

“I don’t know what else to do.

 

“I’m terrified

you might not come through

for me

when I need you most”

 

like a rescue mission gone pear-shaped—

a flickering candle of hope drowning at sea—

leaving me to plan my own escape,

using an ole paddle board

and some duct tape.

 

“LORD, I can’t stand not being in control.

 

“Trusting someone else

with my fate

is a colossal leap of faith

I entrust to you, alone,

the Lover of my soul.

 

“LORD, I want to feel comfortable

in my own skin.

 

“There’s so much I want to say and do

but I don’t know where to begin.”

 

They say

I should perform

for an audience

of one King

of an eternal dominion

not a room full of jaded jurors

or a thousand self-serving minions

who could care less about my suffering.

 

’Cause they don’t know

what I’m thinking

 

or how often my tears

slide down a slippery slope of fear

 

finding their way back

to the provincial pack

of which I’m not

 

seeking to please everyone

even the people I haven’t met yet,

except for God.

 

“LORD, I feel like running away.

 

“Then again,

the world seems so dark

and unkind.

 

“And what I find

inside my mind—

a runaway rowboat,

headed to a deserted isle,

leaving behind a ‘Dear John letter’,

my only proof of existence—

isn’t much better.”

 

Only the tender timbre

of my Maker’s voice

makes me want to stay.

 

I want to know more

about this Maundy Thursday Prince,

ever since I’ve read what eyewitnesses say,

 

“He massages people’s feet

as he washes away the dirt

and the stench of the street.

He walks with those who suffer

and suffers when those who suffer

go astray.”

 

This is the Rabbi

who inspires closet skeptics

to “come-out” and pray.

 

Let’s be real,

cynicism isn’t real livin’.

 

It’s brothers robbin’ brothers

the joy of breakin’ bread

to stay home alone,

eating Ramen with Sriracha

instead.

 

I wouldn’t be so defensive

if I weren’t always breakin’

all the rules.

 

I’d blame it on my ADHD

if I could.

 

But if Pain’s taught me anything,

it’s that Impulsivity

doesn’t have to control me.

 

“LORD, did you create me this way

or is this part of original sin’s proclivity?”

 

No one has the right to judge me,

not even myself.

 

’Cause I’m limited to what I can see,

understanding very little of my own secrecy,

a sliver of the shadow stalking me:

 

Imperfections.

Insecurities.

And Inclinations,

respectively.

 

Only the One

who knows everything

about everything,

including every possibility

about every possible world:

 

A Christmas tree in this one.

A 10G cell tower in the next one.

A wormhole in the third one.

A multiverse of different-but-same,

ad infinitum.

 

How can the clay say to the Potter

“Why have you made me like this?”

 

As a mere man

that’s how—

a kindred concoction

of breath and dust.

 

Drunk with arrogance,

I fight against my mortality

and tendency to rust.

 

A clatter of dancing bones

broken to pieces

by the flippant toss of a slur

with the force of 10 stones.

 

“LORD, you made me a man

so why do I quiver

and blow apart

like a dandelion in a floral bed

next to a still river

suddenly uprooted

by the mischievous wind

that plucks without a hand?”

 

When I start searching

for a thunderbolt or trident,

I know I’m overcompensating

for something.

 

Probably for being shaken

to my core.

 

“LORD, remind me

trouble at sea

doesn’t mean I’ve been forsaken.”

 

It just means I’m navigating a skiff

that’ll one day be upgraded

to skim the waters, effortlessly,

 

far away from the safety of the shore

into the heart of the sea:

 

A sea that’s meant to be

swallowed slowly

and perpetually explored.

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Sari Delagneau
Sari Delagneau
1 year ago

Thank you for sharing this moving, powerful poem during Holy Week. The act of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet is such a compelling reminder for how much He loves us and wants us to come to Him no matter the dirt that sullies our hearts. How many people withhold themselves from His love out of shame or guilt. Your poem speaks to the connection the Lord wants to have with us if only we’ll let Him. Such a wonderful reminder – well done!

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