The Quandary

I read each day of some horror
going on somewhere, and I have
a hard time relating, because

there is a barrage of bad news and
I just become immune to the horror,
until I recall, conjure, relive the two

most horrible events I experienced
and then I shudder, flinch, wince
while I sit in the extremely comfort-

table, leather recliner and then I
wonder if I am supposed to relive
those two horrible things which

make me shudder, flinch and wince
when I’m taking communion in
order to experience anamnésis: the

living remembrance of Jesus’ horrific
death in order to more authentically
get now what went on then. Should

I shudder or rejoice or both? I
don’t want to just pop a piece
of bread and a drop of juice

in my mouth and rush off to
coffee hour but at the same
time I don’t want to be morbidly

preoccupied with suffering. And
then I wonder if such anamnesis
over the headlines and at communion

is for me, the victims, the surviv-
ors, Jesus? I want to care but I
don’t want to keep going back there.

And then I think of the comfort of
the recliner and the ottoman
upon which I place my sore leg

and give it all a rest.

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One thought on “The Quandary

  1. Well said, and poignant … all we have is our own journey; the rest is simply “out there,” and your own journey has been hard hit twice. Perhaps there’s no final resolution of how all of that spins around in your mind and heart. But thank God for comfortable chairs.

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