Retreat Poem 3

Written at lunch
 
I read a Wendell Berry poem about
Tossing and turning on a bed
In night's endless middle,
Awaiting an epiphany of rest, relief, 
Rescue.

Then -- for the poem and not for me -- 
It comes,
Descends
Upon the rumpled bed as surely
As upon Jabbok's wrestled shore.

Later -- for me and not for the poem --
In morning prayer, there is a song
Of bears and dolphins and
Fire and ice and 
Many voices more
All praising God in mother tongue,
All singing out what the Lord has done. 

Then we hear a strange tale
Of Christ as guest preacher
Speaking to his neighbors of Jubilee, saying,
"The Day at last has come in me."

Sitting there I hope to hope that
I am in His congregation,
Joining my voice to the
Furry, fiery choir of jubilation.

​And beyond even this, I hope to hope
My soft sleeps have been
Personal appropriation of
Berry's meditation.