When the sun warms only gently and the soft grass cradles my feet. When the tall trees throw back their heads with laughter. When the snow makes the whole earth quiet or the fields are laid wide for a picnic. When every creature seems fearless and knows peace with his brother and neighbor. Are you coming, Lord, to make this last forever? But you patiently say,
Not Yet.
When I lie alone at night, sleepless with my searing secret pain. When endless tears still don’t feel like enough. When I sink in sorrow or the Enemy’s schemes have been too crafty. When guilt seeps into my victimhood and my sins are ever before me, I close my eyes and ask: Will you enter in, oh God, and lift me from the pit? And you, weeping, answer,
Not Yet.
When I lift my limbs and feel the strength in my sinews, the stretch in my muscles. When my body feels young and free and whole. When I am full of health and join the joy of dancing. When my frailties are memories and I laugh without fear of the future, I look up to you, oh God, and ask: Is now the time when you will banish sickness to our long-forgotten memories? And you quietly answer,
Not Yet.
When my friends turn again against me and mock me. When the say, Where is your God? When I am forsaken and know the burn of a traitor’s kiss. When I look at the lovers and ache with emptiness within me. When the crowded room feels void of hope and everyone is just out of reach, will you be present with me, oh Lord, to hold me at your side? But I faintly hear the echoes of your
Not Yet.
When my family is gathered to share the bounty of the earth. When we feast till our hearts are as full as our bellies. When the wine flows freely and our joy is complete. When friends feel like sisters and enemies become brothers. When we laugh…When we laugh! When we bless you, oh Lord, as our honored guest. When we can’t even imagine what it is to lack, will you join us at table, oh Lord? But you keep the space open and say,
Not Yet.
When our authorities wield power for their own gain. When they withhold their wealth and our dignity. When they hold their feet on our necks and press hard against our backs. When they sew the seeds of division. When they shield themselves and expose the poor to oppression, we cry out: How long, oh Lord? Will you come now to deliver us? But you firmly say,
Not Yet.
Such nimble words: Not Yet. With soft and open endings. They contain within themselves the universe that is now and is to come. They wait with patience. They hold back the rushing rivers of justice and mercy but let tears trickle through. The negative beginning weighs heavy on our souls and breathes out our sighs and groaning. But ‘yet’ is pregnant, like hope. Yet is what we wait for, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection of the dead. And we know that
Yet a brighter day shall come.
Not Yet.
When I lie alone at night, sleepless with my searing secret pain. When endless tears still don’t feel like enough. When I sink in sorrow or the Enemy’s schemes have been too crafty. When guilt seeps into my victimhood and my sins are ever before me, I close my eyes and ask: Will you enter in, oh God, and lift me from the pit? And you, weeping, answer,
Not Yet.
When I lift my limbs and feel the strength in my sinews, the stretch in my muscles. When my body feels young and free and whole. When I am full of health and join the joy of dancing. When my frailties are memories and I laugh without fear of the future, I look up to you, oh God, and ask: Is now the time when you will banish sickness to our long-forgotten memories? And you quietly answer,
Not Yet.
When my friends turn again against me and mock me. When the say, Where is your God? When I am forsaken and know the burn of a traitor’s kiss. When I look at the lovers and ache with emptiness within me. When the crowded room feels void of hope and everyone is just out of reach, will you be present with me, oh Lord, to hold me at your side? But I faintly hear the echoes of your
Not Yet.
When my family is gathered to share the bounty of the earth. When we feast till our hearts are as full as our bellies. When the wine flows freely and our joy is complete. When friends feel like sisters and enemies become brothers. When we laugh…When we laugh! When we bless you, oh Lord, as our honored guest. When we can’t even imagine what it is to lack, will you join us at table, oh Lord? But you keep the space open and say,
Not Yet.
When our authorities wield power for their own gain. When they withhold their wealth and our dignity. When they hold their feet on our necks and press hard against our backs. When they sew the seeds of division. When they shield themselves and expose the poor to oppression, we cry out: How long, oh Lord? Will you come now to deliver us? But you firmly say,
Not Yet.
Such nimble words: Not Yet. With soft and open endings. They contain within themselves the universe that is now and is to come. They wait with patience. They hold back the rushing rivers of justice and mercy but let tears trickle through. The negative beginning weighs heavy on our souls and breathes out our sighs and groaning. But ‘yet’ is pregnant, like hope. Yet is what we wait for, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection of the dead. And we know that
Yet a brighter day shall come.