9 months ago


Evensong for Advent The

Evensong for Advent The old man sleeps in a wheelchair his upper body curved above a tray. He’s blind and several strokes have smothered speech. Outside the sun slips down and frozen branches thrum against the pane. “I won’t be there on Christmas day,” his pastor has explained. “I only visit once a month.” “Ubi Caritas et Amor Deus ibi est” Another ancient one appears, steering his way with a walker

“He isn’t dead yet, poor guy,” smoothing back my brother’s hair. That’s all he says. What was it Moses heard from the burning bush? I spell each word out loud and trace them on his palm: he seems to wake. “I will be with you” (O God, you better be.) I light the lamp behind his chair and place two pillows on the tray so he can nestle there. One kiss and then I leave. He died at eventide and on the cusp of winter.