Arts+Culture

Arts+Culture

We Are the Eighth Day, © Melanie Weidner

Poetry

"This is my blood of the covenant"

There is no damping of betrayal’s guilt,
The little deeds of virtue cannot serve;
They niggle at the structures time has built,
Unwilling to admit what they deserve.
Even the grasping at the words of grace:
"Come unto me, and I will give you rest,”
Become the tempter’s taunt, thrown in your face,
Counting betrayals of this fair behest.
And still it comes, this welcome to the feast,
Albeit shadowed with the guilt and sin;
Strange Love reminds that this is freedom’s test,
And given so, the grace must follow in.
So there is damping of betrayal’s guilt,
On Calvary, when Covenant blood was spilt.
Poetry

Rubrics

Things go unnoticed around here
while we do the important stuff
the singing praying sermonizing baptizing.
We don’t read the instructions
want to get on with it insert the batteries
push the button watch the screen light up.
Script stage directions steps one two three are all
fine print we think, or don’t until
we find ourselves at home
watching rain soak the garden
and notice that the screen has gone dark.
When is it that we turn to face
the back of the church? Do we stand or sit
at the Psalm and is there anything at all
about bowing as the cross makes its leisurely progress?
What words are to be said
while earth is cast upon the coffin
and who was it after all
who was supposed to meet the body

and go before it to the grave?