The Morning Call
There are few things he loves like giving the call to rise. When he whispers to the dust, he can feel the words resonate subatomic, reveal a key above entropy & invite the finest particles to enter. He blesses them together, binds them into configurations of glory. And it’s like a crucifixion in reverse: every time he calls cells & systems together, he remembers the terror tug of death, remembers how it felt to fall apart, functions fleeing agony. That slow death taught him the tone to say Rise. He can feel the balm of that word still, sweet in his hands and his side.
Brother Shepherd and His Son
“He leadeth me beside the still waters…” – Psalm 23
As the bread and water come around,
I look out over our flock and count
the babies and toddlers in grown
men’s arms. There are so many,
anymore, and I thank the Lord
of this supper that we live
in days when fathers know
how it feels to suffer
the children.
The bread and water come—
and I think of Jesus while
a boy drives a toy truck
across his father’s
shoulder, over the back
of his neck, up to his ear.
I think of Jesus while another
man rocks his infant daughter
to sleep, her drool soaking
into the fabric of his Sunday
shirt. I know, of course, that
children are sinless, not
perfect. I know they will
wander: under benches,
up and down the chapel aisles,
through the rest of their
lives. Through the rest
of their wild lives all
through this wide,
bewildering world.
I know. I could
bear testimony
of just how
deeply I
know.
But I am watching
grown men, good and
worn men with arms around their children.
And I think of Jesus
while I watch Brother
Shepherd, who works
weeks at a time
at a chemical plant half a world away
and see the way his eight-year-old boy,
adopted a year ago from
an orphanage there
looks up at him like
no one else on this earth
could make him feel safer
or more loved.
We take the bread.
We take the water.
Fathers take the tiny
cups and they run over
onto their babies’ and
toddlers’ chins. Brother
Shepherd holds out the tray
for his son and all is still
for just a moment. And I
am remembering
Jesus.
– First published in Phoenix Song (2018) –
James Goldberg is a poet, playwright, essayist, novelist, documentary filmmaker, scholar, and translator who specializes in Mormon literature. His works include The Bollywood Lovers’ Club, The Five Books of Jesus, A Book of Lamentations, and the art-music-poetry collaboration A Dance of Light. Goldberg is a co-founder of the Mormon Lit Lab and currently serves on the board of the Association for Mormon Letters and on the advisory board for the Center for Latter-day Saint Arts. Further information on his writing is available at goldbergish.com.
