Charity must begin in thought,
Just as God thought us into being,
Lest faith journeys from head to heart.
Lost are the religious
Choking scripture of meaning,
The intention of what God-breathed
For the Kingdom of God is at hand!”
The Christ of God walks the earth,
One voice cries into the wilderness,
At our crooked paths between head and heart.
Water of repentance awaits His fire,
To burn away our enmity,
that hardens our heart.
“Behold the Lamb of God Who takes away the sin of the world!”
A dove splits the air whilst a voice pervades the forerunner’s being,
“This is my Son, the Beloved,
with whom I am well pleased.”
The Holy One emerges,
Waters of repentance,
Like water into wine,
The Dove finds its rest,
“…and his delight shall be in the fear of the Lord…With righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth.”
Resplendent is this new water,
Drawing uncountable thirsts,
“Whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. The water I shall give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life”
A carrot of eternal life,
Draws weary minds,
To look up in gratitude,
And out in forgiveness.
Mercy, compassion, unbound love,
Toward YHWH through neighbor,
Yet, whipped is the hopeful beast of Christ’s burden,
Heavy are the tired legs that follow,
Shorter is the straightened path,
Narrowing from earthly attachment,
Dripping sweat like blood,
Agony defensless to a higher will.
Joy overshadows this matter of time,
Loving God to love neighbor,
Despite pious thorns of rebuke,
Aiming their arrows of judgment,
Unaware their aiming at themselves.
Prejudice, thick like fog,
Lays heavy upon the earth,
Blinding love from head to heart,
Seeping deep into culture’s mind,
“Passing Over” narrow paths,
The insidious midst,
Suddenly parts like a sea,
Allowing comfortable and safe passage,
Within a sweeping current of prideful priests, prophets, and kings,
Righteous in condemnation,
Scourging with scripture,
Cloaking their Image in shame,
Forcing them to wander,
Into the fog.
Below the looming thickness,
Where ground and midst separate,
One can kneel and see,
As if looking through cracked glass.
Clear enough to make out,
A thin trail of crumbs,
Remnants of bread from before,
Left for the meek,
And the lonely.
The hateful labels,
etched upon them,
Find new skin
Stretching over inflections of hate,
Growing cell by cell,
Nourished in newfound viaticum.
Nourished and drawn,
Placing all hopes and fears,
In a rest to come,
The final torturous judgment,
Will have no sting.
Bit by bit,
Persevering in real food,
Conforming in slow digestion,
Towards True Life,
Willing to exchange,
Humiliation for pride,
Carrying a new burden,
Hewn of wood,
Their Savior carried.
The crooked road within head and heart,
Seen through a legacy,
Bowing now to follow,
Instead of later in judgment.
‘Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”