Fullness of Time

Some days it feels like I’m supposed to be a cheerleader at a funeral.

Some days it feels like I am doing hospice work

with a patient who is unaware of their own impending death.

Some days the pasted on smile conceals real joy as well as grief.

Some days the brokenness of life

overwhelms to the point I can’t imagine

it gets any better in my lifetime.

Some days the brokenness

so pervades life that we close our eyes to it

unable to take one more reminding glimpse.

We feel it in our bones.

We numb ourselves to it.

It resides in the back of our minds.

We distract ourselves.

Something is not right.

But put a finger on it?

Identify it?

Name it?

It floats jumbled away into the mist.

We identify the symptoms and treat them

     The dis-ease remains.

We pray for healing.

     There is no answer.

We cry for guidance but.

     Nothing lights the path.

We offer ourselves up as willing servants.

     Only roaring silence.

We trudge along, “business as usual,”

     But it isn’t working.

     It isn’t the same as it was.

     We know that it can’t be but we act as if it should.

Something needs to break.

Something needs to die.

Something needs to be born.

Something needs to emerge.

Something needs to be thought,

    needs to be said,

    needs to be sung out

        over creation 

        to make it new again.

But now the something waits.

Gestating in the dark and lonely and brooding thoughts of a people in exile it waits.

The fullness of time has not come.