Psalm

Today is the eighth anniversary of the death of my brother Nick in a plane crash in Kosovo. Here is a Psalm that I wrote out of the pain of that grief:

No, Lord, no. This word I will not hear.
No, Lord, no. This word I cannot bear.

My brother’s body lies on the stones strewn mountainside,
my mind alert to realities it cannot admit.
His body lifeless, broken by Kosovan heights,
my body alive to the stabbing pain of his loss.
My blood racing in my veins,
My heart pounding like a jack hammer,
My tears gusting like gale lashed squalls,
My tongue spilling out the word, no.

You gave up all, becoming a no-thing.
You offered up all, giving your life.
You spoke the word, forsaken.
You lived the offering, sacrifice.
On your flayed back was the torture instrument carried.
On your forehead was the round of razors rammed.
In the place of your skull was the pain of the iron piercings.
In place of life immortal was the path of the damned.
In place of Man, you placed yourself.
In place of God, my brother lives.

At the foot of the mountain is the telling of tales,
stories recounted of the one who is gone.
In the mountain’s shadow tales told are bitter-sweet,
memories recover the one who is gone.
To speak of the dead is bitter.
The telling of takes amplifies loss.
To speak of the dead is sweet.
The telling of tales confirms love.

Yes, Lord, yes. This word I will hear.
Yes, Lord, yes. This word I will bear.

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Moms Mabley - Abraham, Martin and John.