poem by
Bruce Gorden
photograph, "Love," by Fabrice Poussin
The Lord Is Not Slow
I summoned a legion of heaven’s finest Chariots.
And waited.
For the Lord is not slow about keeping His promises.
And I waited.
I waited
the way Abraham waited for news that his eighty year old wife had become pregnant.
I waited
the way the children of Israel waited at the door to enter the Promised Land, for the sins of the Canaanites to be full.
At last
a special messenger showed up, the self same walkin’ stompin’ kick ass angel of the Lord who had visited Daniel before me, obviously a warrior of great reputation, to say he had been delayed by the forces of evil in some remote corner of a battlefield I had never heard of and for which I really didn’t give a piece of unleavened bread. But not to worry, Michael was coming.
Michael appeared, one wing mangled, one foot dragging behind the other and faces me with weary eyes like the mighty Nile had dried up. He straightened up, got a hold of himself and said, “I’m good to go.” He’s battle weary, all warred to hell, and he says to me, he’s good to go.
I stood in the company of one who would storm the gates of hell and I began to sing: A change goin’ come.
I cried out: Lord, if you had not delayed my brothers and sisters would not have died in Charleston, they would not have been blown up in Boston, shot dead in Ferguson
And I waited
the way Martha waited for Jesus to call out
L A Z A R U S!!!! Come forth.
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