The News Was Not Good
for Andrew upon hearing his cancer diagnosis
I think of you lying unable to speak, feeding tube firmly taped by fear, and remember your last service, preaching the good news of God and serving communion, handling the mysteries of divine grace with trembling hands tearing at the feather-breaded breast of Christ like pelican mothers desperate to feed starving little ones out of their own bloody souls. The terror of such love, so helpless at the mercy of speechless fear yet desperate still to love regardless, wrests good news out of bad so starched hospital sheets now serve as God’s makeshift tablecloth of resurrection hope as your body becomes bread broken, a bound sacrifice of praise uttered out of dark whimpers of pain. ©2003, Tess Lockhart. All rights reserved. |