Poem May 18, 1987 Issue

The carpenter

Rosemary S. Pendery

The carpenter once stood
at his workbench.
You could hear the sound
of his hammer
hitting its mark.
People woke
to the sound early in the morning.
"It's like a call to rise,"
they said. And they got up
and went about their work.

"More like an annoyance
when we want to sleep.
Wish he'd hammer
somewhere besides Nazareth,"
said others.
And then one day he did.
His hammer sounded no more
in that place.
"Where has he gone?"
asked those who had
wakened early.

"Far from Nazareth, I hope," said others.
"Maybe he's waking up
Some other unfortunates
with his sound."
And he was.
He was waking those
called blind and deaf
Through his words, his deeds,
by his very life, by love.

And those that were awakened
began to wake others
not with hammers
But through the light of truth and love.

Silently hammering away
at blind belief,
The Christ was and is
finding its mark.
Are you awake to the sound
of healing?

Rosemary S. Pendery

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