ALTAR FLOWERS

 

ALTAR FLOWERS

            for M. H.

This is how the flowers see us

leaving worship. Just minutes ago

we were seated before them, these beauties,

Lutherans in Central Washington.

In our pews, mums and roses

below the cross, in between

the piano and the choir.

Our cross, an artist’s creation,

gold leaves opening upward like hands,

giving praise, give silent testimony to live,

an object transformed by suffering.

Minutes earlier we walked

towards this cross, and these petaled blossoms,

giving thanks for a Thanksgiving meal,

and after the meal, the pastor folds

a white linen cloth over the silver cup

resting on the altar, also beautiful,

even as this beauty yields to a life fully lived.

A full bouquet placed in water and arranged in a crystal vase,

once more in between, and standing in quiet beauty,

roses a winter pale, off-white,

pink at the top edge of unfurling petals.

Walking past the altar to stand

behind the flowers with the camera,

one can see what the flowers see

in our departure after worship.

What they see in us, we don’t know.

We have words for them,

ephemeral in their short lives.

And we did sit before them

and marveled at how flowers were possible.

Did we say we were also lucky

to be in their presence?

Perhaps not. But we saw them.

We took in all that we could,

and other things we are not even aware of

happened too. We glimpsed ourselves,

I’m sure of that, made more

beautiful because of their presence.

We remembered Marie, too,

we did, and smiled, remembering her joy,

remembering her Ballard roots.

Some of us were new, this Sunday,

and never had the opportunity

to know Marie. And they partake

of what she has given us. The flowers

are silent before so many things.

I’m one of the blessed ones,--

blessings surely, have nothing to do with luck.

Marie and I were confirmed in the same church

in Seattle—different classes--Prince of Peace Lutheran--

Pastor Olin Nordsletton. Pastor Ollie.

Both us glowed saying his name.

Marie told me, We had 59 of us

in our Confirmation Class.

I countered remembering what I memorized

besides the 66 books of the Bible in order.

Marie was a Ballard girl, that gave her some attitude--

and my wife, Karen, also from Ballard,

smiles at that one. Karen reminds us how Marie

loved providing flowers for Sunday worship.

And this morning, this Sunday,

these flowers, present, again.

Before us, as we enter, watching us as we depart.

Much of what we carry we carry unspoken,

uncertain and unknown to others. And yet

so many encounters with beauty, these mortal

blossoms with the cup and cross and altar.

These participants in beauty and our own unfolding,

as we ask ourselves, What just happened?

What was that taking place in our weakness?

Jim Bodeen

3 March 2024