John 20:26
After my mind jostled in disbelief
and pulled between dissent and acceptance;
after back-and-forth seeking some relief
under the arch of others’ evidence,
my own reluctance murmuring, my hands
like a blindfold covering restless eyes
and little appetite for banter, sleep;
after foregoing anything to eat,
toying with the thought of leaving the land,
even renouncing Jerusalem sky,
I delayed, backstaggered to see my twin,
swerving between limestone and devotion,
triple-guessing the past three years. My thin
mouth soured in the query, “What happened?”
Too many questions still without answers.
Nothing my twin mentioned or considered
pared down the hunch, my desire for exile.
I tried to envision some distant isle,
a nation without tyrants and banners,
a home where I wouldn’t be embittered.
How do we begin after this ending?
Wasn’t He supposed to oust the Romans?
Where are the miracles now, spine-tingling
marvels, demolition of the temple,
rescuing from all kinds of oppression?
What of Judas’s self-inflicted death
and all that yet remains to be spoken?
How could we be so foolish and simple
in the name of our belief in heaven?
Why couldn’t we have offered our last breath?
And still there are ineffable questions
that might yet loosen the tongue, lips, and voice
but not in this malaise of exhaustion,
this suppression of political choice,
upheaval bound to false humility
crushing the fatherless and the widows.
Why did He not destroy any of this?
How is the truth supposed to set us free?
I’m shut away, without door and window,
locked in the welter of my own abyss.
Peter says again the tomb is empty.
Matthew asserts, “Doubt not. Only believe.”
And the others’ words roll on like the sea—
vagrant, boisterous, one extended heave
leaving me to wrestle in paradox.
Such fear and comfort in the ocean’s waves
despite being hurled up against the rocks
pleading for Him to deliver and save.
Last night I couldn’t sense Him anywhere.
Today I wonder if He’ll return here.
Too easy to leave after what I’ve seen,
too hard to continue without witness
of what the others declared. They are keen
that I believe even amid dimness,
remembering the first day of the week.
I know He didn’t mean to forget me
after what I’ve done to revere and seek
the drawn-out essence of hope and mercy.
Lord, deliver your unworthy servant
from this mulish, petty belligerence.
Perhaps I will not see or hear or feel
the emblems, the marks, the indents of flesh
or find reprieve from my obdurate zeal
now, soon, or until He sees fit to thresh
my spirit from the body in an act
to translate my will into His bidding,
to see life and death through a bleeding pore,
yet maybe, there’s a chance to perceive more,
God willing and extra time permitting,
than I alone might warrant or attract.
How could I have missed the last gathering?
Hence, I’m the one named to shut and secure
the door, but before I hear whispering
I feel low trembling, Peace be unto you
and reach hither thy hand. Such register
leaves me dumbfounded and penitent, awed
and conquered by all that’s sacred and sure
as I try to extol but feel thrust through
the backbone and lungs, shoulders and fingers.
This heart exclaiming, My Lord and my God.
* * * * *
Note
* * * * *
Over the past 22 years, Mark Bennion has attempted to explore his experiences as a Latter-day Saint in both closed and open forms of poetry. Some of his work has been geared toward a Church audience (see Psalm & Selah: a poetic journey through the Book of Mormon, 2009, Bentley Enterprises). More recently he has written poems for a general audience, looking at how to extend the range of his religious experience and observations. His poems have appeared in Aethlon, The Cresset, Dappled Things, The Lyric, RHINO, and other journals. In 2021, Resource Publications published his book Beneath the Falls: poems. He teaches writing and literature courses at BYU-Idaho.
Introduction
by Michael R. Collings
Emma’s Crown
by Makoto Hunter
Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?
by Steven L. Peck
Eight Days
by Mark D. Bennion
Nephi on the Tower
by J.S. Absher
Song of the Salt Sea
by James Goldberg
Talking to Dante in the Spirit World
by Daniel Cooper
The Deacon and the Dragon
by Theric Jepson
The Tree of God’s Own Love: A Poetic Retelling of the Vision of the Tree of Life
by Bruce T. Forbes
