Anchorhold

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Anchorhold: A Poem

  

Here I am, suburban anchorite:

Chronic illness my cloister,

My home my hermitage,

Caregiving my enclosure.

My bare voice sings praise alone in my cell

With the absent-present congregants in my ears.

The mockingbird leads the avian chorus;

I pass the peace to the dragonfly on perched on the other side of the glass.

I pass along the comfort I receive

From the Father of mercies.

A living stone, embedded in the temple of the Body,

Walled in, communion mediated by windows 

In my wall, on my desk, in my hand,

Attached yet excluded—

Invisible illness hiding me invisibly away

From the rest of the body—yet still part of it,

Never parted from my Head, the Beloved.

I am a suburban anchorite,

But the burdens and bricks which anchor me here

Anchor me to Christ.

Unimprisoned God

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Ruby-crowned kinglet on a snowy day

O Omnipresent God,

Unhindered by any door, deadbolt, or lock:

We who worship alone today

Within the walls of our homes or rooms or curtained hospital beds or unsheltered in the open air

Offer you our solitude as sacrifice of praise,

In gratitude for the gritty faith of the many in the great cloud of witnesses

Who themselves worshipped in prisons of stones or caves or holes in the ground,

In exile and in illness;

In solidarity with many today imprisoned by poor health or sin's consequences or the unjust decisions of the powerful— 

Some deprived of all contact with the world outside—

Companion us in all our lonely lamentations; 

Shine Your light into our darkness to show the gold gleam of the most holy place of Your presence; 

Unite us in the spiritual communion of the saints, one body in Christ beyond time or space;

Remind each one that no child of Yours is ever truly alone,

for you are with us always in love and grace

For the glory of Your holy name.

Amen.