I read this beautiful poem at our church service at Englewood yesterday.
(Indianapolis folks: We will be hosting an event with Tania Runyan on this Thursday evening, May 22. You won’t want to miss it!)
Blessed Are The Merciful
Amish schoolhouse shooting, Nickel Mines, PA
I didn’t trust their forgiveness.
Before the blood cooled on the schoolhouse floor
they held the killer’s widow in their arms,
raised money for his children,
lined his grave site with a row of patient horses.
Somewhere in town there had to be a father
splitting a trunk and imagining the crush
of the murderer’s skull. There had to be a mother
hurling a Bible at the wall that received her prayers.
Or is it just the flash and noise of my own life
that primes me for anger? Does scrolling
through playlists in traffic fill the spaces
in my mind reserved for grace?
Forgiveness requires imagination.
Eye for an eye is efficient.
For the man brought chains.
He brought wires, eyehooks and boards.
He brought a bag of candles and lubricant
and secured little girls with plastic ties.
Two sisters begged to be shot first
to spare the others.
He shot them first. Then the rest.
One child with twenty-four bullets.
Perhaps they know something I don’t,
something to do with the morning rising
over an open field. The fathers receive
the meadowlark, the swallowtail,
the good corn rising into the fog.
The mothers ride their carriages into town,
accepting the rumbles of the stony road,
tripping into the rough hands of God.
This poem is found in the collection Simple Weight by Tania Runyan. Reprinted here with permission.
Image Credit: Creative Commons License, via Wikimedia Commons.