Dateline: Aug. 31, 2006
A Poem
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I wrote this poem a couple of months ago one Monday morning after church the day before. I hope you enjoy it.
From Where I Sit
The feet are shuffling past –
a ruffle; a pleat
best-dressed fabric
with the muffled sound of birds’ wings –
or angels’ –
just past my ear.
The saints are coming.
My head is down,
my eyes are closed, but
my ears are open to
this lovely sound – this
thousands-year sound.
The saints are coming.
His body is moving
forward to
receive and
renew and
remember.
His body
broken for you.
His blood
shed
for you.
The saints are coming.
I am near enough to hear those words
repeated over me
as I pray.
And so I am surrounded
by this sound,
this soft sound
of blessings bestowed
of thanksgiving.
I am surrounded
by this sound
this soft sound, this
cloud
of witnesses.
The saints are coming.
Now,
looking up I see
the faces:
steady stream
young and old,
bruised and broken,
thoughtful, serene
graceful and bent
hard and soft
gentle
strong
known and unknown
to me,
yet
all known to
all loved by
Him.
I imagine
His smile
at the scene:
“Come in my children!
Welcome home,
my children!
The table is prepared!
You are just in time and
there is always room
for more!
Bring your friends;
Invite them all!
Have no fear,
I can multiply this meal!
Go on, scoot over!
There is room at the table,
at
My table
at
Our table.
So keep them coming!
Keep them coming!”
I see them coming.
I hear them coming.
The saints are coming.
Communion.
- Nicole Pivec, copyright 2006
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