Katie Snipes Lancaster
Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. Exodus 20:9–10
Just when you seem to yourself
nothing but a flimsy web
of questions, you are given
the questions of others to hold
in the emptiness of your hands,
songbird eggs that can still hatch
if you keep them warm,
butterflies opening and closing themselves
in your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure
their scintillant fur, their dust.
You are given the questions of others
as if they were answers
to all you ask. Yes, perhaps
this gift is your answer.
—Denise Levertov, “A Gift”
We carry questions, O Great Parabler, Christ of the Story.
We clutch and grasp, we clench and cling,
we enfold and envelop our questions,
interrogating the certainties we hold dear.
We palm hope like a mug of blazing hot coffee,
cup our hands around the treasure of our faith,
waiting for its heat to temper so we might partake.
Let your presence be within it all,
the wait, the heat, the examination, the hope.
Be with us as we carry together the questions. Amen.