Good weeks, it happens twice. First,
on Sunday morning, our sunlit sanctuary
stained-glass gold, faces, too, lit up
as we reach and stretch and lean
past ancient, creaky pews to shake
that timid boy’s hand or hug
this fragile saint whose love
of seventy years has passed.
Christ’s peace it is we freely give
and dearly long to get because,
dear Lord, the news today is dire:
speed boats blasted by U.S. bombs;
masked men zip-tying parents; tear gas,
flash bangs choking neighborhood streets,
children frozen in fear; our leaders, mean-
while, bulldozing history and building
gilt-ridden ball rooms. Today, my hunger
for Christ’s peace is boundless. So,
I’m glad when it pops up midweek,
as I hustle past cars parked in the rain,
grocery bags clutched in one wet hand,
my Aldi quarter all shiny in the other.
“Quieres mi carrito?” I hear from
beneath a yellow hood, soft
eyes, warm smile a welcome light.
She points her cart my way, as her bold
kindness halts traffic. A dripping van
and huge pickup halt, idle,
bear witness to this snapshot of grace:
two hands passing a piece
of silver. It’s just enough Jesus for me
today–and her, too, I pray, who turned
that parking lot into a second sanctuary.
Photo by Daniel McCullough on Unsplash
23 Responses
Beautiful reminder of the moments of peace in the midst of all the chaos.
Holy ground!
Thank you, Mark, for holy words.
Love this.
Pitch perfect. Thank you.
So well and beautifully said Mark. I loved the dual meaning words.
I am crying having read this.
Beautiful.
And hopeful.
Thank you.
I love this! It brought both a smile and a tear. Thanks!
Thank you. This helped me understand an experience I had in the Aldi parking lot last week. A woman offered me her cart; I offered the quarter already in my hand. She declined it, saying that someone had given the cart to her. Later, when we had unloaded the cart, a different woman asked for it. When she offered me a quarter, I was able to decline, saying that someone had given it to me. Passing the peace can be progressive.
I love many things about this poem, including the little piece of cultural history it taught me. I have never shopped at Aldi’s so I had to research the meaning behind the phrase “Aldi quarter.” Now having read the comment about progressive passing along of rented carts, I am charmed by the mild subversiveness of the poem’s parking lot ritual. The line break at the end of stanza five is brilliant–it’s own little subversive act.
Thank you Mark for seeing the intersection of those worlds and giving it words!
Your prose immediately catapulted my memory to the late Barb Newman. For whatever reason, we would end up shopping at (that) Aldi at the same time. Each week, I would see her scanning the parking lot and looking for a target to whom she could gift her cart; and she did so eagerly and gladly with the kindness and mercy of Christ. The humanity of it all!
These glimpses of gospel and incarnation do wonders for the soul. Thanks for putting the Flesh into words!
Beautiful Mark! A small moment of grace and hope in the midst of chaos.
Beautiful…thank you for reminding me that there are so many ways to pass the peace! ❤️
Thanks Mark. I remember when you taught me gently that not all poetry needs to rhyme, not all the time. This was powerful, as a work of art and a prophetic call.
Your lovely poem touched my heart in so many ways- thank you
Igniting a contagious appreciation for the meaningful depths of what passing the peace means – yes, on Sunday mornings but also on the highways and byways of life.
Thank you, Mark, for crafting a soul-touching moment in just the right words to evoke our feeling and an inner voice that says “Do thou likewise.”
Thanks, Mark–a teacher’s gonna teach, and a stanza’s gonna turn into sacred space in the fulness of time. Good work.
What a blessing this poem is, Mark. It’s quiet tenderness stays.
Pay it forward. Pay it sideways.
Swept away by the beauty, power, and yearning of this. Thank you!
Teary…this is beautiful, Mark. I’m grateful you shared it.
This was beautiful and heart wrenching. Thank you, Mark
Your words and rhythms remind me that life and hope are persistent and stubborn perhaps in a holy way. When we bear witness, better yet the opportunity to participate, may we help push goodness further into a new reality. Thank you for sharing this peace. 🙂