"What Is 'It'"

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My message…my question To bear that message, "it is finished," is my Christian call in this world.  To bear the answer to what "it" is, maybe not so much.  But that doesn't stop me from using my imagination, from wondering what it might mean in the lives of those around me.  Sometimes, I even find myself thinking about those whom I've met in my past, and wondered "what was salvation to them."      A few years ago, I saw a woman in Chicago sitting by a dumpster.  It was my first trip to the windy city, and after seeing her, I don't think that I will ever be able to see the unadulterated beauty that some seem to focus on when they talk about Chicago.  As I sat there thinking about her one night a couple of months ago, I decided to revive the experience of the encounter in order not to forget her.  And so I wrote this poem.

In the city of the north    Where the winds of power blow       I venture forth          Into what, I do not know. The buildings rise, evening falls    Streets hum as daylight fades       Another day ends, and the nightlife calls          The shadows form and play in the … Chicago nights    where city lights       give halo glow          to tear-filled plights.  Walk the streets of this city that thrives    Beauty is a veil, truth lies in its tear       Underneath is not so alive, with          The unveiled, the ignored and their despair. I saw her sitting by the dumpster    Her legs crossed, her sagging head       Her spirit dying          If not dead Chicago nights    where city lights       give halo glow          to tear-filled plights.  To this day I hear her sigh    her image haunts my own mind's eye       When the city calls, I think of her           And I wonder…              Is she alive                 Is she dead                    Is she alone                       How long will she weep inside my head Chicago nights    where city lights       give halo glow          to tear-filled plights.  I see her image by the dumpster still    But I will never know her name       Would it matter if I knew?          Would it alleviate the pain? I never saw her eyes    But I pray my song give voice to her cries       While the city's beauty begs me          To ignore her and her lies Chicago nights    where city lights       give halo glow          to tear-filled plights.

As I think of her now, this stranger who touched my life only briefly years ago, I can't help but to ask myself "what is salvation to her?"  What would that mean, and what would my part in it be, if I were to be a part of that.  No, I don't know.  I cannot answer that, but I can use my imagination and wonder, and pray that God speak to me in the midst of me trying to understand.

What is "it"? What is "it", what is salvation for those who on that fateful day stood at the foot of the cross?  What is it for Peter, for Caiaphas, for Pilate?  What is it for…you?  What is "it" for you?  I can't give you the answer to that question.  Only you can do that.       And if you want the answer to that question, all you have to do is search down into the depths of your life, down into the depths of everything you are.  What is the darkness that you find there, the darkness that threatens to bear you down, that threatens to snuff you out?  Whatever that darkness is, know, my sisters and brothers, that in the very midst of it, Christ stands right now, his arms held wide waiting to embrace you…and to you, on this eve, he says to you…It is finished.  It is for you.  And it is your salvation.  Thanks be to God.

In the name of the Father,

And of the Son,

And of the Holy Spirit.

Amen