Friday Morning

December 7, 2011


On a hazy, Friday morning, I entered the cathedral,

the one with  soaring spires,

large, brass doors,

the dark, vaulted aisle that smells like wax and ancient, incense smoke.


I saw the Archbishop there and asked him about life.

Brows wrinkled,

grey eyes bright,

he turned as if no one had ever asked and gave me the answer:


“I am a man, who fears God.

People think I am holy.


Behind my lips I hide a frown,

Beneath fine robes hides my sorrow.


Some honor me for who I am not.

Others hate me for who I am.


I am on trial because my brother sins,

They took me to court for bearing a cross.”


Profound words,

short, poignant,

so shameful and truly-spoken,

they stayed with me for a very, very long time.


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