The Thinking Poet


Just Another Wednesday

Ash Wednesday:

Black dust of fire, cruciform on brows,

And sad, slow hymns of Lent.

An anachronism,

A dated ritual,

The foam-flecked residue of Christís tide, spent?

Just another Wednesday to a world unwon.

This evening, to this little church we come,

A few in communion gathered

Where faith lingers on.

And here the priest and scrivener of Christ

Smears us with the sign of death and life

And bids us with these words of earthís grim claim

"Remember O man

That dust thou art

And unto dust shalt thou return".

Now, as we kneel receiving Christ,

Each branded with the cross,

A solemn stream of silent folk,

Ash-daubed as we,

Moves before my eyes in steady flow,

Shuffling down the ages as they go;

Sobered by mortality

Some wizened with frugality and want,

Yet seeing through their Golgotha tears

A man unbounded, glorified.

Christ has not died.

A disbelieving world it is that lies and has him laid;

Just a myth, they say, that God should raise a Son.

Just another Wednesday to a world undone.