Something Victorious

Something Victorious

(“The Lord will rescue me from every evil deed and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen.” 2 Timothy 4:18)

I ought to write something victorious,
gilded with golden halos and armed angels.
I ought to say there is never a day when
I feel lost or listless or lonely. But I would be lying.

I know your best friends forsook you,
I know others just never showed up.
I know it must have discouraged you,
I know you wish just one would have rode up
on their decorated horses. But it was you
at the center of the courtroom alone, answering
questions about charges that should never have been
levied.

How sad did that make you feel, how silent and alone?
How long did you wait for even one friend to stand by your side?
Did you ever feel like giving up, did you ever want to just give in?
Or did you continue you tales of the Good Story,
the tales that propelled you to this judicial encounter?

Maybe they didn’t know what to say; maybe they thought
you would be okay? Maybe they were disheartened;
apostles shouldn’t suffer, and if they do what are we common
people to expect? Maybe they just got busy in the fields,
or with a wife, or with grandchildren and forgot you were
on the docket that day? Who can say why souls stay away?

But there was one, you said, that stood beside you. There
was one who knew the story well. There was one who would
never forsake you,
one that stayed through your heaven and your hell. Can
we reduce it all like a potent mixture of spirit and flesh
and make ourselves forget all the rest.
Did you smile because he lifted you? Did you cry or
pray at will? Did the absence seem emptier in the
presence of divinity? Or were all the aching places
replaced with unseen arms you could feel in a moment’s breath?

I wish I could write something victorious,
but today is filled with the mundane.
I’ve known the silence of friends, I’ve known
the absence of comrades when they knew my pain
had become more than I could bear. I feel that emptiness
today as real as ever. I believe I ought to
write something victorious. And maybe it is this;
there is one who is present in this silence, one who is
walking the abyss alongside me. And though I see no
angels, and feel no hand upon my heated head, I do think
I am safe in the arms of the one who shows up
even when I am not looking.