Sunday

When?

This too shall pass - but when?
Patience is harder still
when the pain is
strong and
sharp and
digs deep.

When?
Friday's suffering and the
silence of Saturday
seem to echo
without an answer.

When?
I have to believe Sunday will come -
resurrection
redemption
glorious salvation.

If my body shares your wounds,
your pain,
I share in your glory too -
but sometimes I think
the price is so high
that my cowardly bones would settle for less.

Would settle for the ordinary
and the not so special -
your plans for me
seem too big,
too glorious -
too painful.
Ordinary would be just fine.

I shrink from the pain
with which you would mould me,
which fits me for your service,
which is creating in me
the likeness of
your son.
I am not this brave.

But the potter's hands,
so capable of mercy,
of gentle care,
can also hold me fast -
there is no escape
from the grip that knows me and loves me
and refuses to give up on me.