Night Watch

Wednesday Poetry Club

Artwork by MW+

Still sleeping?
Three times deny 
the dream of pillow
to stand guard.

Tell yourself
you get to get 
Jesus this cup 
of cold water

and stumble
down the stairs.
Whatever you do
to the least of these

means unwittingly 
supply our Lord
with the liquid 
coming back

up. Time of testing
draweth nigh.
Jesus has perfect aim
if the bullseye 

is the wall,
the rug, the outside
of the porcelain bowl.
With Peter claim

I will serve you
even unto death,
and look into the open
mouth. Flinching,

wipe puke warm 
and putrid
as rotting garbage.
Cut off the ear

to resist sleep's
siren song and watch
it regrow
with a touch.

Oh, willing spirit, wake
and greet another wave.
Sympathy pains
writhe in the stomach.

Pat the back of our Lord,
disinfect the floor,
look for the light
as morning crows,

and pray there isn’t more.
Remnants of our last 
supper cling
all too visible on the rug.

Hose it off under clear-eyed
morning sun
in the prickly part of the yard
beneath the pine 

where no one will walk
barefoot on the needles
and pinecones and dirt.
Breathe like one reborn.

Composition Notes:

We haven’t had a stomach bug go through our ranks in a long time, and so far, it looks like it might have been food poisoning. When I was woken up by a distressed child begging for water, I thought about Sheldon Vanauken and his wife getting each other a cup of cold water in the night. It has been many years since I read A Severe Mercy, but that is the image that has lingered. They relished opportunities to serve one another, and as I recall, they expressed it as not depriving one another of the chance to embody their love.

I am not naturally servant hearted, and this pragmatic example of clothing the sentiment of love in practical action inspired me. It doesn’t feel inspiring when you have been woken out of a sleep though. When the Holy Spirit whispered, “Do it for me,” I was able to chuckle at how dramatic I get.

“Take this offering, Lord.” I held out the cup of cold water to him with the flair of an actress and the warmth of a shared joke and started writing the poem in my mind. The following hours were a series of interruptions as I tried to comfort the afflicted child and snatch what sleep the night afforded. I kept writing the poem mentally as I was woken, and it gave me comfort and purpose in the midst of the discomfort. I thought about Peter declaring he would never fall way, that he would follow Jesus unto death. Hours later, he had to be woken up repeatedly because he couldn’t watch and pray with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. I too can feel zealous at certain times of day and befuddled by longings for sleep at others.

I used to think that Jesus warned Peter about his immanent denial to tone down the brazen assertions that he would follow Jesus unto death. Now I see it as a loving caution. Jesus is saying, “Head’s up. You’re about to get really disappointed in yourself. But I will be there on the other side.” Jesus knows our frame and remembers that we are dust.

It is wildly meaningful to serve a God who takes all actions committed unto him as done unto himself. It means we can turn carpool runs and weeding the garden and endless dishes and organizational puzzles and meal planning into kingdom work. Even cleaning up puke becomes work done unto the Lord.

On top of the meaning, there is relationship. To feel seen and not alone in the most mundane and messy moments makes them tolerable. To get to share inside jokes with our Creator, who knows us better than we know ourselves and who never forgets a single association or literary reference, satisfies our longings to be known.

May the language of the resurrection meet you in difficulty this week, and may you share a hardship or a joke (maybe even both at once) with your Maker. My prayer for you is that you would stop and sit beneath his smile and that all your cravings to be deeply known would be satisfied.