A summer’s day. Warmth
from the Sun, and from
the urgent embrace of a
mother who has lost the
centre of her life.
A white coffin, carried
by one. No long life, and
no usual crew of six to
carry. A life incomplete,
yet ended.
Where is God? Intellectually
I know well. God mourns
too. For God knows of
grief, from the inside,
from the Cross.
But, still, where is God?
Intellect and feeling do not
connect. The Cross yes. But
Lazarus was raised.
Why not this one?
Where is God? Not this day in
miracles, alas. But there is
the neighbour who brings food,
the child who laughs, the silence
when no words will do.
Slowly, too slowly, grief can learn
its contours. And one day
life too will again feel a shape.
But it never takes away the
question. Where is God?
Rob James 