the hum of humanity

They process in without a word.
Normally songs and sounds usher them in,
but today the organ sits silent, no voices sing.

Music carefully pulls words from my heart.
Without the strains of songs, I trip on my own thoughts.
Although silence can often be a balm to the soul,
today, in this moment, it leaves me naked, exposed.

I listen carefully as they walk by.
Shoes shuffle. Someone sniffles.
A cough, a squeak, a child’s “whisper.”
Proof that silence isn’t made of nothing,
but a thousand little things
(if only we listen).

We lean into Lent with an unsettled feeling on our shoulders.
A season of quiet, a season of seeking.
Wanting, trying to hear God speak to us,
but getting distracted by all of the everythings that live in the nothing.

The kneeling bench settles heavily onto the floor,
bearing the weight of a hundred thousand prayers –
some slipping silently from shaky souls,
others proclaimed loudly, full of confidence and grace.

God hears it all –
every mumble and moan,
every laugh and giggle,
every gasp and sigh,
even the imperceptible sound of a tears slipping down your cheek.
The hum of humanity is never nothing to the almighty.

4 Responses to the hum of humanity
  1. Joy Mastrosimone
    February 24, 2015 | 9:13 pm

    What a beautiful way to express our emergence last Sunday. Thank you for this. I also read your Living Lent and that was very meaningful also. I look forward to more. Joy

  2. Claire Shepard
    February 25, 2015 | 12:27 pm

    I love this poem. It felt so strange to sit in congregation instead of choir loft. I missed the organ and singing so much! Thank you.

  3. Pam garrett
    February 27, 2015 | 9:24 am

    Bridget, that is lovely. I was very unsettled by that service as well. Your words are full of grace. Thank you

  4. Kathleen McGee
    February 28, 2015 | 3:16 am

    Like looking through a keyhole to glimpse God’s love for us.