resurrection

"Jesus wept and died"

I always wondered what that meant.

Is it an admonition to us to do the same?

Like, "Life sucks, and then you die"?

Or, if Jesus died for our sins,

did he first weep for our sins --

a holy pity party embracing us all?

So, our sins have been wept for, died for;

we carry the blood and tears of the Lamb

on our souls.

Perhaps that would be best blessed, if we

rejoiced and laughed and hugged and forgave

and generally enjoyed the feast of life

to balance the weeping and dying and love.

For joy balances weeping;

life balances death;

and love, of course,

is the only balance to love.

Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine Jesus cried, and somebody grinned -- don't whine Jesus smiled his love on the least, scattered his manna that the lowly might feast All you remember is that slavering Beast so remind me why you find daring to share peace of mind in kindness less than Divine

Holy Weak

Locked in a keyhole

a romance gone AWOL,

a sad bitter song badly sung.

Mad voices lie to our young,

encrypt failure as beggar’s choice.

Born to be property, Innocent of means to judge,

to please

a man of pride, complete his beautiful

bride, be his family retreat from

right and wrong.

. . .

Jesus, before His Destiny

removed Him from common ribaldry,

banter and shoving that score for a man,

secure his order among fellow men,

Jesus loved the children even then.

He dared to imagine a gentle love, free

from bullies’ shaming, from easy blaming,

from traumatic scars of social war.

He believed in us, human kin, above

judgmental sin.

Fatherly humor, the way fathers love

their children, with the pride of

ownership and the slave master’s

secret fear,

God disciplines His Heir.

Easter

Gentle rosy raindrops of a mellow morning,

Children make the day – it's Spring.

I thought of Christ in Church this morning,

nailed to His cross in long ago Jerusalem,

arising to springtime, the earth's reawakening.

It's a time for children and games of childhood,

a time for playing with love,

secret smiles and daisy chains.

It's a time for the simple and natural

A time for anointing the soul in peace

after the ravages of winter.

A time for gentle things

like newborn kittens

and flowerbuds after the rain.

I am slowly relearning the healing strength of love,

Slowly relearning the simple pleasures of humanity.

Life is sweet, poignant,

a drifting melody.

At the Table

You want your fond place at the table

You want to be a fellow jolly good "so say we all."

I tell you, the table is vastly laden with

layers of little memories, which

no two see the same.

We arrive at the feast

hungry for virtue, for love, for

forgiveness of our wanton ways;

willing to be merry, to partake of

ritual, merging through

transubstantiation.

Constellations, moving, shifting,

making waves in our collective

consciousness, appear to reveal

sparkling impulses of truth.

On that warm, wet evening

taking in the sweet, evocative air,

embracing untranslated joy,

something catches in our throats.

The song we need so desperately

to share can only emerge in shards.

The pain, sucked in with our breath,

becomes one with the bread and wine.

This is the blood, the body,

marinated in salty tears, preserving

what has not yet found

appropriate release.

Again, and yet again

meeting, to take sustenance.

Hungry battle wounds

courageously opening,

to imbibe the healing

of grace.