the holey week
so this is
Holy Week
except for holes
we have
in planning
certain days
but come by the church
we will be open
all the time
you may kneel in darkness
or in daylight
whatever is the atmosphere
for God and you
to chat
for God will not mind
your mood
or what you have to say
if need be
God will listen
though profanity
though maybe
keep that
‘twixt yourselves
and God will answer in
a away
that most likely
will not satisfy
though there are
instant precedents
they are
in stories
mostly
though
we’ll leave
without resolve
unrecommended
maybe unbelieving
in the silence
that was shared
for God
works in God’s timing
and waiting much
is called for
or not
or something else
kairos
and a gift
we don’t know
how to ask for
and receive
in time
more than we could
ever ask
and ain’t that something
this translucent
faith business
that ain’t a business
but a gift store
without prices
where everything’s available
though we have to wait
to have it chosen
for us
what we need
in time
and we could call it
holy time
in a
holy week
c l couch
photo by Josh Eckstein on Unsplash
Good Saturday
It wasn’t good for us
Maybe not for God
Maybe God was weeping, too,
Though could not be hiding
Part of God was buried, though
Unless the strategy to
Harrow hell is more than
A medieval story
But first followers have no hope
Today
Jesus is gone, buried quickly
Inside a sabbath regulation,
A guard set to keep anyone from
Trying anything
But disciples are not ghouls
The body did not matter, anymore
Except that there were those
Who though the body
Should be spiced,
A practical and spiritual
Measure
Hopeless people might not
Have cared
Jesus was gone, the movement failed
Neither the zealots nor the
Gentler ones could have their way
From him
No that there wasn’t drama:
Judas took his money, then
Destroyed his own part
In everything
Maybe there were those who had
If in a maudlin way
Celebrated political victory
Death of the teacher
Who had rabble-roused
And inconvenienced leadership
If only in the heart
Herod who lived
Might be pleased
He could set up the cross next to
The platter also soaked in blood
A museum to the worldly-
Minded
And, to those who know,
An emptiness of soul
Who were the followers?
Where were they?
It seemed they fled
No one among them moved
Except some women and
A young man
Nothing threatening there
The Earth hides quietly today
Maybe the sun will bathe
The hilltop of Golgotha
Maybe rain will do even more
To cleanse
The people who are left
They have no faith
No hope
They have forgotten anything about
What could happen next
They are tired, frightened, aware of
Their parts as outcasts and outlaws
Only a few hold on to strings of prophecy
Maybe remembering the life, the
Healings, the lessons from their teacher
But he is bodily gone
This is the dreaded day in-between
Only they don’t know
There is another side
C L Couch
Photo by Jordan Christian on Unsplash
Beartooth Highway, United States
Holey Week 7
Feel It
(think it through)
We call it Good Friday,
I’m not sure why
Because it was good for us that
Jesus died and,
Like the best sin-eater that he was—
King for a day and fool
In the world’s eyes—he
Consumed our sins in
Ignoble majesty,
A perfect person without sin himself,
And died
Otherwise, we should call it
What it was, the
Awful Friday
Terrible in blood and wood and metal,
The sounds of weeping
And of cursing,
‘Til the sun stopped shining and the
Earth was split
Because he died
I sit sipping ginger ale and
Nibbling toast, while
I try to write;
This
Is no version of the meal
That instigated things, though
We call it “last”
If I want, I may take part
In re-living and remembering this
At church
There is no last for me
Or you,
As there was for him
Though we might feel it in
Fear and isolation
There is something more—frankly,
I’m not sure
What it is exactly—and
We can have it
(inexactly)
Because there was this
Good death today
C L Couch
Photo by Ave Calvar on Unsplash
Holey Week 6
Maundy, Maundy
They had a loving supper
We know, because Jesus said to
Love each other
Many will have the same in remembrance
This night
Jews have a special supper sometimes near
This time
The importance of meals
As a bachelor, sometimes I don’t appreciate
The value
Of the family with friends or guests
Sharing food and drink
The nourishment from company
And if it’s too much, well, it’s always over
More things will happen later on
Jesus will be arrested,
Sent to trial and to torture
Those who ate with him will scatter
Except the women and two men,
One of them who’s steadfast,
The other man who at the fire says
He never knew the one
Taken away
So the greater hope is in the women
Watch what follows in the next few days
Let’s have this meal
Because and regardless of tradition
It’s important
That we dine together
C L Couch
Photo by Sandro Gonzalez on Unsplash
Holy Communion
Holey Week 5
Keeping Faith in Time
Big days are coming
Liturgically speaking
For practitioners of child and
Parent faiths
Maybe today should have gone quietly
There’s daily service
To attend to
I don’t know how to make
Every day spiritually special
As one of those practitioners, I should
But weak flesh and sometimes
Unwilling spirit,
Which is to say I’m human
So are you
Not as an excuse for anything
While there are certain things, at large and internal,
To give in to
There are things we must keep trying for
Let this day found goodness
In the next one
And if we miss a step
Let’s remember certain rhythms
And their seasons
Allow for discord
(against the chord)
Without ruining the music
Might make it better
C L Couch
Photo by Zachary Nelson on Unsplash
Bethel College, Mishawaka, United States
Holey Week 4
A Now That Must Also Look Ahead
It’s Tuesday
It’s a nuthin’ day
A sick day
Among sick days
The novelty’s worn off
Some learning’s needed
With the cooking
And the cleaning
The boxing
(of both kinds)
All the games that
Walls and cyber-walls allow
Thank goodness, we can
Look outside and go there
There’s real talking, too
In many ways
A face to face
That’s a comfort
And we learn from this
A different kind
Of schooling, maybe
There are books
Paper and pencil, too
Or let them be totems for
Pens or the electron kind,
What it all might represent
The faces
All the forms
We can through this, now
Until the angel passes
Our own kind of rite
The Jewish own so well
Singing for pass-over
Blood upon the lintel
Chair for the prophet, should
The prophet come to call
Food, some of it with bitter herbs
But everything we need
For the journey
Into such desert and
At last
A homeland
The Passover is family
Each tradition has its form
And if we have none,
What better time than pandemic’s
For making something new?
For the world needs cleaning
Not a purging
But a dusting off
Soap and water
Disinfectant for the worst
While we wait
Research
And wait
With everything that passes over
Having something of the new
Inside,
Maybe inexorably, ineffably
Once shared,
New ritual
Based on care for what we’ve learned
Of who we’ve been
And who we are
Again and for the first time
As for death and mourning,
Each tradition knows that well
And those without
However we might feel
I don’t know how to count
While others do
Remember, in the future,
It was this kind of plague
I might not be here
Or another witness
Closer and more qualified
You’ll have to have a story
Back to learning, again
Sad lessons
And tragic
And a void
We learn this other kind of life
Lived through emptiness
It is time for a wake, the Irish say
(who also know bread
and bitter herbs for sin and hope,
Irish Jews more so)
Though this party if too big
Too many coffins to line up
Along the bar
What the dead drink
Will do nothing for a tab
Only take coins in readiness for
Ferry pilots
Announced by banshees
These groups I know a little of
You have your own
And stories
Set them down and tell them
Try not to worry about variants
They happen
There is a narrative here
Part of the story of the Earth
If we tell it well,
The Earth might weep
For us
C L Couch
Holey Week 3
One More
Some might say
Since we are ash
At the end, then
Let us burn now
They are wrong
Enough goes up
In flame, not the
Good kind, either
Not the sun
That through the
Ozone give us
Life, that lights up
The moon for our
Remembrance
The flame that
Takes, we understand
As Pogo says, this
Enemy is us
And yet the comic
Character is funny;
My dad read him
Later quoted him
Year in, year out
And he is right:
We know the enemy,
And it is funny
Laughter, sardonic,
Otherwise, does
Drive the devil
Mad, so much so
There’s a rule,
No jokes in hell
So breathe and
Do not breathe for
Burning—there
Is more water,
Sometimes with a
Kick, always more
Until the barkeep
Calls last call,
There having been
Enough, even if
We are left, human
Will in strange
Partnership with
Eternity, wanting
While we’re here
One more
C L Couch
Photo by Chronis Yan on Unsplash
“We have met the enemy and he is us” is a parody of a message sent in 1813 from U.S. Navy Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry to Army General William Henry Harrison after his victory in the Battle of Lake Erie, stating, “We have met the enemy, and they are ours.”
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pogo_(comic_strip)#%22We_have_met_the_enemy_and_he_is_us.%22
Holey Week 2
We’ll Burn the Palms for Next Year’s Ash
Today is Palm Sunday. I recall this because I saw,
just now, an image with two pieces of wood, tied and
at an angle. I suppose many are celebrating—feasting,
in fact, since it is the end of Lent—the way I am but
with honest hearts.
Lent is done, although the days of ash continue. Nothing
new for planet Earth and the people of it. What do we
know of ash but that it’s final in remembrance?
We might take the stuff and try to rework it, but what it means
remains the same. We are of ash. We’ve tasted it.
We try to contain it, though it’s mischievous in
blowing around. Where does that wind come from?
“Dust in the wind.” “Turn, turn, turn.” Every generation asks
the question, needs an answer, doesn’t get one.
There is ash. It’s everywhere. We think it’s dust, though we’ll never
clear it out. We can’t. As I say with all the singers,
it is us. We are ash.
C L Couch
Photo by Niklas Tidbury on Unsplash
This was a picture I took just for fun. One of those “that would look cool”-moments. I only realised the contrast between the new, fresh, ready-to-burn wood and the spent ashes of a campfire, like the wood was ready to meet its maker. Kinda sad actually.
This begins a week-long devotional, “Holey Week.” The title is intentionally spelled.
clcouch123 
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