Good Friday

Each year,

I intend to really observe Easter,

Make some Lenten promise,

Give up caffeine,

Or meditate daily,

Practice some spiritual discipline,

Bring myself closer to Divinity,

Or at least feign self-discipline

But I don’t,

I’m busy grading papers,

Have to work late on Ash Wednesday,

Am two and a half weeks past Shrove Tuesday,

Haven’t made a Lenten promise,

Bible unread,

Soul disordered as my desk,

Good intentions lost to unimportant urgency

Then comes Good Friday,

The altar stripped bare,

Crosses covered,

No music, solemn prayer,

Quiet stillness,

Reminders of death,

Of sacrifice,

Of love

I am filled

With stillness

With silence

With solemnity

Given the chance

To hear my own thoughts

I am filled

With grace.