I’ve never worried before, O God, about the younger son’s repentance. I’ve always gratefully assumed he walked the roads of sackcloth and of ashes. What a shock his father’s welcome must have been!
But now… I wonder.
Was he another twister of the truth? Was he another one who turns the world around his little finger? Did Narcissus blush with shame at his temerity, his lies? And did the pounding of his heart betray his gratitude or hidden glee?
And now… I wonder.
In that Great Somewhere, do you wait for me? Do you wonder when I’ll lay aside deceit – delusion sweet for me, unwitting lie to you – and truly bring my starving soul back home? Does the pounding of my heart betray my gratitude or deeply hidden lies?
Yes now… I wonder.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 15:1-3, 11b- 32, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, Fourth Sunday in Lent.
Their sins caught up with them, those Galileans, when their blood got mingled with their sacrifices; not to mention, those unspeakably perverse and foolish people crushed by falling blocks when Siloam’s tower fell: Well. I knew it would catch up with them.
No, seriously, Jesus, wait. I’m talking now.
Have you not said that God is just? Have you not said that God is righteous? Have you not said that God will not be mocked? Not even mocked by cracked foundation stones?
No, seriously, Jesus, wait. I’m talking now.
When I’ve been foolish, yes, and sinful, I’ve owned up. I’ve said, “I’m sorry,” even (sometimes) made amends. I’ve done my best (sometimes) to make things right with them and you.
Should not your justice fall on them as well as me?
OK. I’ll wait. You’re talking now.
…
No, seriously, Jesus, are you kidding me? They weren’t egregious sinners? They weren’t different from me? And what? It’s me you summon to repentance?
…
Oh, great. So I’m a fruitless fig tree now? Have you not noticed all this time I spend proclaiming your divinity, your righteousness, your way? And while you’re looking, see where they bear far less fruit that I…
…
Well, no, I know, I’m not exactly perfect…
…
Well, yes, I know, I’ve many things to change…
…
And yes, I know that I’m the only one who really can change me, and yes, I know I really can’t change anyone else but me, but…
No, seriously, Jesus, wait. I ache for this poor broken world, for all this suffering Creation. Why can’t the evil suffer for the ills they bring? Why must the good endure the pain instead?
No, seriously: Why?
Why?
…
All right. In ignorance unblessed, I’ll keep my eye on me.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 13:1-9, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, Third Sunday in Lent.
Photo of the And Jesus Wept statue at St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church in Oklahoma City, OK. Photo by Mike Krzeszak; used by permission under Creative Commons license.
Salomé with the Head of John the Baptist by Caravaggio Oil on canvas, 114 x 137 cm, 1606 – 1607
“Go tell that fox for me…”
Are you kidding, Jesus? I’m not telling Herod anything. I know the risks. And if you don’t, might you recall the head of John the Baptist on a platter?
“…’Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow…”
That’s great for you, Messiah, but, I’m no messiah (if you hadn’t noticed). I stand by beds of illness impotent, and listen to my breaking heart.
“‘…and on the third day finish my work.”
Ha! That’s a good one, Jesus. Yes, I know the joke, that preachers only work one day a week. Not even I believe I’ll finish – or you’ll finish – in just three.
“‘…Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way.'”
Oh, must you leave so soon? No longer to encourage me to take on earthly powers, summon them to righteousness, decry their foul abuses?
Yes, there you go, into your self-proclaimed three days of labor, leaving me… leaving me… commissioned to confront the Herod of today.
A poem/prayer based on Luke 13:31-35, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for Year C, Second Sunday in Lent.
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