Ages Since I Climbed

Ages Since I Climbed

"Six days later Jesus took with him Peter, James, and John, and led them up a high mountain, where they were alone. As they looked on, a change came over Jesus." Mark 9:2)

I must confess, it has been ages since I climbed a mountain
of any significance.
I hate to complain, but the rivers and the plains,
along with the curbs and concrete of the suburbs
have left each day that passes grieving and lazy
without a hiking companion.

I wouldn't stay there long, at the apex of the journey,
perhaps long enough to see the eclipse of the sun
by the brighter transformation of the One I have tried
to love so long.

I told you long ago I would wander wherever You led.
I've been through the dark valley, stuttered on the desert echoes,
watched wheat ebb and flow, canola grow like mustard waves.
I've jumped when they said jump, and fallen over dead when
the scene demanded it. I've frozen my toes in sliding snow
wearing only my Sunday shoes. I've made friends whose souls
were mated to mine; and lost the same friends over politics,
cigars and beer.

They call it a family, Jesus; a family. Then why, when we disagree,
does this family become silent, change their addresses and keep me at
such long arm's length that I can't hear their words for listening.

But now age and health demand I stand as seldom as I can.
And yet I'd like to climb, find the time to. I'd love to share the path
with you. A night or two; I'd need to take it slowly. A friend or two,
one's I've known since we only knew Jesus was our friend.

Maybe I haven't lost you; maybe I'm afraid you think I'm no longer on the hike,
because I've adopted some travelers, received new brothers,
embraced outcast sisters, and shunned the warlike expressions of
a Jesus who wants to kill just about everybody who doesn't climb
at a space very close to the end of time. Maybe I'm just afraid
you think I'm not climbing the same mountain as you.

It has been ages, Jesus, since I've climbed a significant peak.
But on sidewalks and asphalt, tiny ekklesia and the emptiest skies,
I still want to follow, to wander, to meander more in Your lonesome ways
than a thoroughfare crammed with cocksure doctrines
and duct taped compassion. Just dig me deep as I travel on,
and catch the tears I weep when I miss the rest of the family.