Hope is the thing…

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers-/that perches in the soul…”

Emily Dickinson.

This word “perch” catches my eye these days. Because these are days of anxiousness and fear. These are days that require hope. But perch seems so slight a hold, like something teetering on the edge or gripping to a wire in a windstorm by frail-looking bird legs. That’s not how I want my hope to be standing, I think to myself.

I want something rooted to the ground like an oak tree or planted firmly on the turf like the bulk of a Stonehenge Slab. My mind, filled with worst cases and grim predictions, doesn’t want to think of hope garbed in feathers that could be blown away. How can one cling something so light and easily overcome? I worry. But, ah yes, Dickinson isn’t finished. “And sings the tune without the words-/ And never stops – at all/ And sweetest- in the Gale- is heard”.

Sweetest in the Gale. This is a Gale that our world is in. The normalcy and security that we have rested on and thought would always be has been shaken. Just driving around the towns and cities of our Nation shows the reach and severity of the Covid 19 pandemic. Life for many has been put into limbo, and for others the terrible effects of this virus has struck even closer to home, with loved ones being stricken or lost to it. Oak trees can be blown down, as can standing stones.

In the midst of this Gale, however, is One who perches in the midst of it all, secure and unruffled. Far from being blown about, His feathers bring shelter and peace, like a mother hen to her chicks. These human fears He has conquered, and the pain or sorrow we feel He has felt alongside us. He is the Hope that will not be moved, though the earth pass away. And He has quieted storms before; He will quiet this one.

“…we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to seize the hope set before us. ¹⁹ We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain. ²⁰ Jesus has entered there on our behalf as a forerunner,” Hebrews 6:18b-20a

 

 

 

 

 

The following poem was inspired by my friends Dr. Andrew Becker, Dr. Saad Al-Khatib, and Dr. Andrew Brockmyre, who are all serving their patients faithfully in the midst of this pandemic. Please pray for these and all other men and women serving in the Medical Community now and in the days to come.

 

And Yet…

                       

By Jono Kiser

 

Rough, cracked knuckles filled

With soapy water, stingy lightly,

Colored by iridescent sheen,

Then washed away in a rush of the tap.

Cheeks wan, worn by hours of toil.

Anxious lines form fearful crow’s feet

Edging eyes that sweep over the cramped

Room. A brief moment of peace,

Before the mask is donned and the now strange world

Begins again.

 

 And yet…

 

Like a heavy fog, insinuating through

Forlorn city monuments,

Sparsely dotted highways,

Coldly empty dining rooms

With lightly dust covered reservation books,

Worry and subtle danger moves; keeping the cautious

Distant or behind doors or hidden

Behind sheets of fibrous paper and fabric

Held by flimsy elastic.

 

 And yet…

 

Those faces usually seen close

Are now far away. Even if just one

Closed door separates, it must

Remain secure, held by concern and love.

Little hands that seek larger, stronger ones

Now may point and wave at screens of glass.

Soft and gold banded fingers that offer gentle

Assurance, now may wring just below

The table where a glowing computer screen

Tethers as best it can.

 

 And yet…

 

And yet below it all,

Or more truthfully,

Above it all,

Hope.

Pushing through anxiety and fear,

Strengthening weary hands and hearts.

A light in the swirling, gathering dark.

Like a flame buffeted to a blue, nearly extinguished speck,

Then jumping to dance brightly.

Like a dormant lily pushing past rock and dodging grasping grubs

To blossom when winter still clenches with a final grasp.

Like the bud of a dogwood that endures freezes and frosts

Before bursting open, tossing cool dew of Spring away.

Or like a heavy,

Unmoving stone,

Before an empty tomb,

Rolled aside

At the break of Day.