with washed feet
I come,
to the shadow of
your cross
I come,
holding my doubt and confusion
before me, before you…
I see hurt,
I see pain, (again)
as the world cries alleluia.
I cry hope,
and why,
and what if….
I cry alleluia too, but,
may my cries be muted,
please, for all that is
incomplete in me,
for all that is incomplete?
I have doubted and feared,
I have doubts and fears,
I am not yet whole enough
to cry “he is risen”
… while I know it
I don’t yet know it…
so bring Easter softly to me….
may I bring Easter softly to you,
in hope of wholeness?
