Saturday, November 23, 2013

"The Barricade" by Karen Gritter

By a good friend and theologian/poet … Karen Gritter

The Barricade
 "I stand at the door and knock"

The door is shut
The bar in place       
Rusted the lock
Lost the key
Black the blood
Upon  the ground
And on the door
Where your slave was bound  
And tortured long
Until she died
Her spirit fled
And does not haunt
The place beyond
Where hope awaits
But in the dark
A lonesome lark
With broken wing
Who cannot sing
A casualty of hate
Which did never abate
They speak of love
But it seems too late

Friday, November 22, 2013

This Day, 1963.

I was studying in the library (Calvin College, Grand Rapids), when a student came to the table and said, "The President has been shot!" I replied, "Okay, what's the punch line?" thinking it was some kind of macabre  joke. He made it clear - no joke. I quickly left the library for the Commons and a TV. A friend recalls me stepping into a classroom and saying, "The President's been shot!" (I don't recall that moment), but I remember lots of tears that day in the Commons. And then at home in the following days - no one doing anything. As if the nation was paralyzed. My parents were Republicans; I don't recall their reaction, if any, but we had TV on the entire time. Nor do I recall any specific emotion on my part, but I recall being distressed. Did I weep? I don't know. But I weep today. His death, a serious loss to our political health and vision.