On a Good Friday in April
The heavy clouds hung low,
Blending with the barren rock,
Cold and Colorless.
Three silhouettes against the sky,
Three crosses upon the crown,
There the faithful gathered round.
The soft sound of song
Drifted on the wind
Asking, where have you been?
I made my way to the appointed place,
Drawing close to the pageant
That played out before me.
I could hear more clearly now,
The young voices calling,
Do you believe?
As an outsider I stood,
A witness to the divine,
And they began to pray.
I walked around the congregation,
Quietly observing, wondering
What it is they know or feel
That I do not?
A few glances in my direction,
But no invitation or denial.
The ritual proceeded unbidden,
The worshippers subsumed
In this transient moment.
I studied the faces of the faithful.
What brought you here to stand
Upon this Texas hill?
Are you lost or have you been found,
A wish for a dream unfulfilled,
A desire for a joy unrestrained?
Looking for a sign, a feeling, a place,
An inner voice, the wind against your face,
The warm light of the sun
Breaking free from the clouds.
I watched and waited, thinking
On the random nature of faith.
Why some have it and some do not.
And who is blessed, and who is cursed,
What we gain and what we lose,
By choosing a certain path?
On that enchanted rock
There was no epiphany, but
I knew I had witnessed something beautiful,
And that was enough for me.