Silent Sunday is not for the silent ones; those who rely on Sunday worship to think of God. If they can’t hear about him on that day, when can they? What about the rest of the week? Is worshipping to him a door that is shut on every day but Sunday morning, to be open on that day only? If so, he has not yet visited the house of his soul where there are no doors, but a spirit that melts all barriers with its fiery torches as it burns a passage through the darkened doors of his mind.
It transcends all the hours into wings that beat through time and space from self to self with a surprise that springs in the soul; a communion with his Sunday morning God that he forgot about during the week. Through his transformation, he becomes more intimate with God. He brings God with him on his daily routines. His deeds become part of his religion, and his actions are an extension of his worship. His daily life is his Temple and his religion, and the sacred bread is the fruits of his labor.
His Sunday mornings are in thanks to the God that got through to him during his deep meditations. His new spirit will now let him rise to the height of his achievements and will never let him fall lower than his failures.
He is in the hands of the Almighty now, the outside God that he now calls “God,” the one who became part of him.

I wrote this during the week before Easter, Holy Week

  • 0
  • 1
Login to comment...

Liked or faved by...

Renata Martin

Other works by Robert L. Martin...

Some poets followed by Robert L. Martin...

C.R.Stanger Sparkle Poetics Isaac Eustice Sebenzile Ngwenya Castle Isabella Koldras