Lauds and Compline

i.

I walk in the heavy morning air of mid-August,

     suffocating, yet elated.

Despite my awkward old-age heaviness,

    exhilaration exudes  from the marrow.

A good Creator has,  despite my contrariness,

     granted a new day.

So I walk, in gratitude,

      singing to myself the hymns of my childhood.

I conclude with the remembrance, long dormant,

            of an obscure fourth verse. So satisfying!

Then, I detect a fellow walker,

            emitting an indistinct sound from some device.

“How dare he infringe my worship with his din?”

Then, I draw closer, and the noise resolves

                                                      into Gospel.

Tempo, chords, and composition, are foreign

           yet the same good Creator

                     is praised, with joy and power.

And so for a quarter mile, I lurk

                           within worshipful distance.

We meet by and by.

So sweet.

My new brother, Solomon.

ii.

Late that same night, world-weariness presses down the old preacher.

Yes, there is still joy, but the feet are sore and the bed beckons.

“Just a bit further. The time for resting is not yet.”

In a dim shelter, residents fill my ear with stories

     of logging, and methadone programs, and favorite authors.

Yes. It is as random as it sounds.

Then, bursting in,

                 a new, angry friend,

like a prophet, but all noise,

                       never resolving into Gospel.

Dramatic confusion born out of hurts

--  personal and tribal --

  he quotes myriad unrelated scriptures without  understanding.

And yet, there is something loving and lovable

     about a man who bears the burden of a daddy shot by drug dealers,

      and the desire to make sense out of the inhumanity and cruelty

                        poured out on a race for generations.

I can do nothing about the slave trade. Nothing about the drug dealers.

Nothing about the hurt and pain he experiences daily.

Nothing but love.

I can hope that when the Morning comes,

  and this long night is over,

                John will be my brother too.