Thursday, March 24, 2016

Walking Man

A poem for Maundy Thursday.

You take the long road, the road out of hell
Where bombs explode without warning
And hospitals shut down because doctors fear for their lives.
You take the road across the length of Turkey
And wait for an inflatable raft to take you
Across the Aegean to an unwelcoming island
If you're lucky.

You climb twelve flights of stairs
To tell a mother that her son was blown up
In a subway station, that another man died
So that many others might also die.
You take the steps one at a time,
And you cannot bear to look in her eyes,
This old Belgian woman who beats her breast.

You walk all over town, collecting a little water here,
And a little water there, because your kids
Need baths and fresh water to drink, 
And you walk and you walk and you walk
From one end of Flint to the other.
And your feet hurt so bad your eyes water,
But you don't want your kids to see.

And tonight, you kneel before the refugee,
And tonight, you kneel before the grieving mother,
And tonight, you kneel before all of Flint.
And, one last time, before they come for you,
You show us what it is you need more than anything.
To have your feet washed, held, loved.
To feel the touch of one who cares.
Have mercy, Lord.  Have mercy.