The Bridegroom Still Among Them

A Poem Inspired by Matthew 9:14

In a narrow street where dust and sandals meet,

Where olives bruise beneath the summer sun,

The murmured questions gather like the heat—

A wondering crowd, uncertain what is done.

The watchers stand with brows of patient stone,

Men trained in hunger, schooled in sacred grief;

They know the fasting hours by bone and tone,

The measured sorrow of a practiced chief.

For long they kept the silence of the soul,

The bread withheld, the cup set far away;

They bent their hearts to discipline and dole,

And clothed their prayers in ashes made of clay.

Yet now they see another gathering ring

Around a teacher walking dusty miles—

And there are songs where once the psalms would cling,

And laughter flickers bright in common smiles.

So to Him comes the question, grave and slow,

Carried on the careful breath of men:

Why do the faithful bow in hunger low,

While Your companions feast again and again?

We fast in shadow, waiting for the dawn;

The Pharisees with solemn faces pray;

But those who follow You move lightly on,

As if the night itself had turned to day.

The Teacher lifts His eyes toward their unrest,

Toward centuries of waiting tightly wound;

His voice falls quiet, simple as a guest

Who knows the deeper meaning of the sound.

Can wedding guests sit cloaked in mournful thread

While still the bridegroom walks beside the door?

Can bitter herbs be laid with bridal bread

While music stirs across the crowded floor?

For joy has rules no fasting hand can bind,

Nor grief be summoned while the heart is full;

Where love is walking close and unconfined,

The strictest sorrow softens, gentle, dull.

The feast is not rebellion against pain,

Nor careless scorn of ancient, holy ways;

It is the sunlight breaking through the rain,

The sudden warmth of unimagined days.

Yet time itself is braided into truth—

The hour will turn, the road will climb and bend;

The laughter bright upon the lips of youth

Will one day meet a shadow near its end.

The bridegroom will be taken from the hall,

The lamps will tremble in a darker air;

The song will falter in the evening call,

And fasting find the faithful gathered there.

But now the wine is warm in earthen jars,

The table broad with mercy newly spread;

And hope moves quietly among the stars

That lean above the path His sandals tread.

So let the moment breathe its living grace;

Let bread be broken freely while He stays;

For holiness may wear a joyful face

When God Himself walks through the common days.

And those who watched with furrowed brow that noon

Carried His answer down the winding years:

There is a time for ashes and the moon,

And there is time for sunlight without tears.

The wise will learn the rhythm of the feast—

The sacred turning of the soul’s refrain:

To mourn when love seems far in silent east,

And sing when love is walking earth again.