Friday, April 13, 2012

Easter mornING

So, I may have failed at this poem everyday thing (that was sort of inevitable). The good news is, it has accomplished the goal of reviving creativity. It has made me think about poetry and writing, which is what I really wanted anyway. 

This year, due to scheduling mostly, we didn't go to our regular church for Easter. We went to a sunrise service that was held on the Moravian settlement of Schoenbrunn Village . This was my first sunrise service ever. It was so surprisingly beautiful to me. It was the simplicity and quietness of it all that was so moving to me.  Normally, I love what our own church does but,  being outside, with no lighting or bands, or shows was a refreshing change of pace for me. I honestly don't know what I think of's still a work in progress.

This year it came without billboards, without signs.

It came without announcement, much like it really would have back then, I guess.

When it came, we gathered,
 at dawn,


Dressed not in the normal frill fit for the day,
but still in the drab and heaviness of winter,
to ward off what remained of it’s chill
on that early spring morning.

Thankful for scarves and old mittens,
boots, and wool coats meant for hunting, or farming.

The mismatched lot of us, huddled to say together,

“This we believe, this we truly believe,”

Under an ancient oak,
as old as the ground we stood on, as time-worn as our words.

“This we believe, this we truly believe”.

Quiet, we stood,

and listened, as The Story was read to the music of our own breath,


and out.

“This we believe, this we truly believe.”

It’s words rang out clean and clear and confident,
standing still
but stirring our souls until we joined the song together,
“This we believe, this we truly believe.”
Moving from the silent sacred to our own resurrected joy, as we sang the old hymns, chanting together.

“This we believe. This we truly believe!”

Like it once was,
centuries ago, as they sang these same words, on this same solemn ground,
huddled in their own wool coats, to celebrate their own winter’s end, their own new Life,
and This,

“This we believe. This we truly believe.”

It came this year, quiet and rising.

Without programs, without sound systems, without lighting or rehearsal.

Without any real warning.

It came this year, full of subtle but expectant hope.

This we believe, this we truly believe.


  1. Ali, I really enjoyed reading this and have had it on my reader for a while now intending to come here and tell you that. It was such a good reminder (in a year that's been hard) that "this we believe. this we truly believe." Thanks for sharing bits and pieces of you here.

  2. Thanks Elizabeth. I hope your year gets better. Next time you are back in the states and Ohio specifically, let's have coffee. I miss you guys.