Mystery

“Keep me safe,

O God,”

I sing.

“Keep me safe;

you are my hope,

my God.”

I sing

“Keep me safe” in the shower,

while I bake muffins,

at the wheel,

why, I don’t know.

I’ve just learned the hymn

for the Triduum,

and it itches in my head

unsoothed.

I sing, though, without expectation

of protection for myself.

I don’t find Christ

in the trappings

of the traditional Church—

icons,

images,

gold-fringed red collars,

crystal toppers for candles,

a large monstrance.

Heresy, maybe, to some,

I know.

Impiety, at the very least,

that forfeits petition.

I do find Christ in people—

my husband’s killer questions,

my son’s integrity,

my daughter’s strength,

my son’s courage,

my colleague’s compassion,

a student’s struggle,

the lab tech’s kindness,

the cashier’s fatigued eyes.

No worries.  It’s all good.

But him,

your servant,

who preached your mercy

for decades,

opened people’s hearts to you

and opened his own heart to them,

why?

Why not keep him safe?

I wonder why,

my God, my God,

why have you abandoned him?