Finished!

“After Jesus had taken the vinegar, he said, ‘It is finished!’ Then he bowed his head and died.” John 19:30

A good friend of mine in our church told me how he likes to read the stories in the Bible. “I like to imagine myself right there, in the middle of what is happening,” he said. “It helps me get a feel for what is happening, and what the people were experiencing at that time.”

Not One in a Hundred

Not One in a Hundred

(“Many people spread their coats on the road for Jesus. Others cut branches in the fields and spread the branches on the road.” Mark 11:8)

He showed up exactly as they expected,
(minus, of course, trumpets, fanfare, military men
and glistening sword).
He rode in exactly as they held their breath,
(minus, a horse, a donkey instead, maybe well-fed,
and the first one to drive it off the lot.)

They rolled out the carpet, a green rug,
branch and leaf, fanning the air, a dozen close friends
shooing away the thrill seekers and autograph hounds,
making sure it all sounded proper and respectful,
no camera flashes, no popcorn stashes, no big gulps
(reverence, say silence, shout amends, foe and friends
alike, ascend the hill quietly; face it, piety should not leave you winded).

“Hosanna,” they shouted,
(Cohen wrote Hallelujah better)
not one in a hundred doubted
this was the day the chain letter
broke,
the fetters no longer choked the life
out of the shouts they had hung on
willow trees just until they were dry.

Whirling, the turbines of time swept their expectations
from dusty Palestine to scholars, politicians, pundits and
poets like me, scratching rhyme after rhyme. We want
Jesus in His prime to announce His intentions and
silence the pretentious so we can nap awhile.

Instead, days like today, and weekends like they
had then,
He lays Himself down, pierced hands and thorny crown,
quieting our hopes and devalues our collection of
autographs the saints have signed (just after their prime time
recording).

Instead, He takes us silent, and, while the universe holds
its breath for what seems a century or more,
when we are no longer looking,
opens the door and peeks past death straight into the eyes
of our definitions.

FirstBorn

FirstBorn

(“The first-born, as firstborn, already belongs to God.” Leviticus 27:26b)

It wasn’t quite the backdoor
where we snuck into the mansions bright,
but it was nearly the same as burglars
catwalking within the farewell night.
Once we thought we would earn it,
we catered to the high hands,
recited our profession upon center stage
to prove how well we had learned it.

Afraid we were second-class, middle-born,
or diet-free substitutes to the real thing
we disguised our fears with cellophane tears
and kept on climbing the crags past noon
until sunset,
and blackened our faces to skulk into
familiar dwellings, hoping for acceptance
at the dining table, even as unnoticed guests at
next morning’s breakfast.

But You surprised us all!
For those ready for it, it felt like
no surprise at all.
And perhaps that is why
so many others miss it,
so used to living after the fall.

We belong like FirstBorn, such an old way
of viewing things, all things being equal and all.

But God’s Son, the firstborn among many children,
integrated us who once belonged to no one in particular,
harmonized our songs that more than once deferred
to the next man with a banjo.

Before long we hummed dances and spent our late night
securely feeling right at home. Backdoors were used for
going out and in at cookouts, block parties and fireworks
displays sparkling freedom that never needed to check
immigration status.

The adoption was ratified; our lifelong hope to belong,
given full status before which the entire universe longed
to bow.

Days and nights are now the same, comfortable and
ready to find something better than the next warm meal.
A meal indeed, but more to the point,
a family to share a breakfast with,
all complete.