In the midst of the congregation, surrounded by sweet honeyed hymns

Lifted by the throats of ardent worshipers,

A thought entered my heart on the hallelujahs of the psalms—

Longing, whose realization was made impossible by the unyielding gulf of time:

If I stood below the crucified Christ, staring at His torn and bleeding glory,

His pained and peaceful eyes cast heavenward,

My whole being—body, mind, heart, soul—would yearn to embrace Him at the foot of the cross,

Would yearn to feel His arms around me, press the blood that flowed from His open wounds into my skin,

To cup it in my hands so that it would be saved from falling to the ground,

Such precious life kept from mingling with mud

Longing to rejoice in being covered with the blood that saves my soul

From the sins that caused its loss.

As the thought faded from my view it converted into a prayer;

Blood and honey intermingled in my soul

And worship became yet more profound with the bitter flavor of grief

Jewell Holland