February 20, 2009

My Journey to God

In Gethsemane

The earth is damp.
A slight fog hugs the ground.
The warmth of the day has dissipated.
A cool breeze closes in
And chills the body.

In the olive grove stand knurled trees,
Trees that have stood the test of time,
Trees speaking of life.

Kneeling in prayer,
I pour out questions, bargaining and anger
From my broken heart.

Did you pray frantic prayers?
Did you feel anger and fear,
My Jesus?

Angels ministered to you to
Ease your agony.
I lean into your body to ease mine.

The darkness of the garden acts as a shroud,
Covering and consoling.
Rest is now possible as tears are depleted.

Sleep overtakes me,
Just as it did the disciples,
And
I rest from my anguish
In the arms of the angels.

By Trudy Bledsoe

(Trudy Bledsoe is a member of St. Christopher Parish in Indianapolis. Her poem was inspired by a Scripture passage from the Gospel of Luke: “And to strengthen him, an angel from heaven appeared to him. He was in such agony and he prayed so fervently that his sweat became like drops of blood falling on the ground” (Lk 22 43-44). She also was inspired by a conversation with Father Lawrence Voelker, pastor of Holy Cross Parish in Indianapolis, about the angels ministering to Jesus.) †

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