In Search of a Miracle

Another poem. A snapshot of the angst that often accompanies the of life of faith.

In Search of a Miracle

A Jesus more available than ever
and yet not

2000 years ago, I could, maybe
have boarded a boat
and met him face to face
and, maybe
have received my miracle
(and have my personal world shaken to its core)

Now, I must access Jesus
with a heart
that must cut through
a thicket of modernity, daily
so that the Holy Spirit
can shine on my mind's eye
for me to see that I am
recognized by Jesus
as one waiting in the line
that lepers once waited in (and still do)

and trust
that the momentary breakthough
--this momentary vision of Jesus--
in the midst of working through
all that my heart must work through
is the miracle
penultimate to any miracle that may follow

as the light
in this new vision of Jesus
illuminates a new direction
for me to look toward,
and as it illuminates
some aspect of the circumstance
of my waiting
that has a utility
in its present existence
in shaping a transformation in my soul,
the Lover of my soul
sees to it
that no lesson is left unlearnt
as I wait in the line, alone
as sees to it that no aspect of my transformation
is left undone

So I wait
in the midst of this
indefinite fast from certainty
--with fury and restlessness punctuated with peace--
for the miracle
as all manner of spiritual growth
is drawn from the circumstance
like marrow sucked from a bone
and as dreams deferred
become the poles on which
hope hangs and grows like a vine