Our eyes falling down to the ground,
Our hearts dry as the dust we trample.
A stranger joins our journey to despair.
and on until our grief can say no more,
Only then can his words water our withered spirits.
Gently chiding, strongly guiding, weaving a story
Of glory hidden within fabled prophecies of faith.
Later do we recall how fiercely our hearts did burn.
Now is our turn, the time to beg him to linger,
A request he can never refuse, for his every meal
Is sacred space, every home he visits his sanctuary.
For those who have eyes to see, bread blessed,
Broken and shared is always more than bread.
His presence no longer confined to history.
This road we walked with him still beckons —
To journey back from where we once despaired,
Our eyes now raised in hopeful recognition.
—J. Michael Sparough, S.J. is a Retreat Master and Spiritual Director at the Bellarmine Jesuit Retreat House outside Chicago. He blogs weekly at www.heartoheart.org/Easter
