When Jesus Walked Into My Room On The Way To Calvary

By Ken Woodley

Cast against the walls of this room

by one lamp’s mute tongue of flame,

my shadow describes all of me

that I have ever known.

It’s all anybody thought I could ever be.

And all I ever thought of myself.

Blow out this flame

and I would be gone entirely,

swallowed by the darkness

of their predictions

and my faith

in their lack of faith

in me.

But that shadow’s definition disappeared

like a reflection on a wave

the moment you walked into the room

and your silhouette joined mine.

Loneliness became oneness.

You sat down beside me

in a room that was no longer empty.

You poured some wine and broke some bread.

You asked about the mountains I had climbed

and understood when I told you about my valleys.

Even the deepest and most dark.

You said there was one last mountain

left for me to scale

and then you would have to go.

That mountaintop, you said, is these seven words:

You are the light of the world.

And believing that truth, you added, is the only way up.

I could tell that you were serious

so I began to climb them without waiting

and you smiled at me.

Astonishingly, I did not fall.

When I reach the summit, you promised

as you rose and turned to go,

I will have also scaled my shadow valleys.

Where are you going? I asked,

as you walked through the door into the rest of the world.

You had, I heard you answer, one more mountain

of your own to climb.