If all our time is present time to God,
our moans and screams of rage are heard not in
the quiet of primordial time, but heard
right now–just as we feel the blaze of pain
ourselves. So in cacophony of grunts,
of cries and whispers, gasps, expiring sighs,
our tiniest mew cuts through and joins the dance
of horror in the mind of God. The days
we suffer isolated from the world…
the hours of rejection, perfidy,
and lies… the minutes, seconds, that we bleed
from the real steel of surgeon, soldier…are shared.
We cry we are forsaken–our cry is heard;
Our tears run rivers down the face of God.
Steven Shoemaker, Urbana, Illinois
[Previously published in Lutheran, Presbyterian, Catholic, & ecumenical publications.]