Walking on the sands…

 

I went for a walk across the sands today.
Dark grey clouds over the looming Welsh cliffs.
Vast empty beach pummelled by wild waves.
Perfect surroundings for my wild soul.
It used to be so easy.
“Trust the Lord”,  they said.
And I tried. I really did.
Did all the right things.
Said all the right words.
Sang all the right songs.
Prayed all the right prayers.
Hoping that somehow, the pieces would fit together
And I would be whole.
And yet, as I walked today
Buffeted by the wind,
I felt so broken.
Broken body, broken dreams. Broken heart.
You took a walk that day too.
Raw and bloody back bearing the weight of the rough wooden cross.
Surrendered to the cruel whims of those you had created.
The Lord of life,
Walking to death.
I thought about you in my walk.
Well, not you, not really.
The Jesus I used to believe in.
The God of easy answers.
A comfortable God.
Who looked just a little like me.
That God finally died. I buried him in the sand dunes.
Because I’m still broken. Because people die. Because shit still happens.
And that pale, anemic God has nothing to say.
The silence has made me angry.
Today, alone on the beach, I shouted
Anger and grief and fear and a kind of impotent longing
You shouted too.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
No Gentle Jesus there.
Physical, mental, spiritual agony.
“Save yourself, and us too”
It would have been such an neat and tidy answer.
But the sky darkened and the earth shook and the curtain tore in two.
No voice from heaven.
Just the sound of women weeping.
I buried god out there today.
But as I walked and wrestled, I saw a glimpse.
Lighthouse in the fog.
Snow drop in the winter
A tiny flickering candle
The first fragile dawning
Of hope.
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