Come sit with me in worship.
We hum if we have no words.
Still, we also can apologize, record, mourn.
Until the weight is lifted.
We will not say to the seers, “Do not see.”
We will not listen for smoothness or savings.
We will be reluctant with plans, and wary of rushing.
We will be waiting, waiting for the Teacher.
The loudest will not drink our attention.
The resting, the returning, is our sound pool.
The setting out follows long after the asking.
The reflexes are relaxed. Aged. Attuned.
We have full, big view of the high walls.
Still Grace bends around, under, before.
In resolve and stillness, we are saved quietly.
Our bleeding guts announce, Justice nears.
Waiting tries the weeping being saved.
But hurry destroys the Shalom Plan.
Soon, soon, we are helped.
We hear, “This is the way.”
And by then we are filled.