Homecoming

I wrote this poem a few years ago following attendance at a Good Friday service at a local church. As I was writing this week’s post on James 1:1 – Who Heard the Letter of James?, this poem came to mind.

 A glance
     that’s all it was.
 A salmon colored shirt,
     khaki shorts,
         high socks and tennis shoes.
 He could have been anyone —
     he was anyone —
         yet no one I knew.
 But for a moment
     in a glance —
         not from him
         nor to him
         but through him —
     I saw home.
 From fifteen pews behind,
     I saw the soul of a fellow wanderer
         traveling his path,
             just as I am mine.
 Through years of twists and turns,
     choices and consequences,
     scars and memories,
     constantly plodding,
     constantly moving.
 I saw a glance
     of a time in the distant future
         when all travelers
             finally arrive home.
 There was no singular celebration —
     every moment is one —
         every moment is familiarity
         and comfort,
     every fond memory
         and deja vu
         emanate from that moment,
             rippling through the past
                 and to moments yet to come.
 I am connected to the infinite —
     an infinite I don’t always fully aspire to know
         but which I sense
             I’ve known all along
                 and have been longing to find again.
 I saw a place where I am known
     more than I know.
 I saw a memory
     of a future time
         once lived
             in happiness and contentment.
 I saw a moment
     when I looked nowhere else
         other than that place and moment.
 I saw the moment
     after the race
         when all is done —
         there is only congratulation,
         no condemnation
             from others
                 or self.
 I saw all failures
     as necessary
         but now finished —
             the course complete.
 I saw a moment of euphoria,
     complete joy,
         unending love,
             unqualified acceptance.
 I saw the eternal curtain ripple
     ever so slightly;
         all questions were resolved
             in answers
                 or contentment.
 I saw a shimmer —
     a glimmer —
         of hope eternal.
 The shoes, socks, shorts, and shirt
     sat down.
 The service began.
 The moment was gone.
 It was just a glance —
     but it was more,
         wasn’t it?