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At The Gates Of Jerusalem
We are like those who walked with Christ, whom He
brought with Him, that last time, from Galilee
into the city of Jerusalem---
where highbrow Sadducee and Pharisee,
with scribes and scholars, gathered to condemn
with narrow minds and swaggering bombast.
We are like those who feast, but cannot fast;
or, having promised courage to the last,
dropped off to slumber in Gethsemane;
then, waking just a bit too suddenly,
stood by---with empty heads and hands---aghast,
watching the victim of our perfidy.
They crowned Him---thorns; someone was forced to bear
the heavy burden of that Roman cross
(that was a task we were afraid to share,
afraid to bind ourselves to certain loss).
Our eyes, I guess, were filled with piles of logs.
Our loyalty was less than that of dogs
(our bite was broken, silenced was our bark).
The slight slope we turned from, that little hill,
seemed like a mountain. We had had our fill.
And, overhead, the sun was going dark.
After a little while, our hopes hung dead.
And we, who yesterday, so quickly fled
the garden and the flicker of torchlight,
have, now, the leisure of an evening's meal.
(Just sip your beverage; you will start to feel
much better.) We will stay somewhere, tonight:
we ought to rest, relax, recuperate,
and pack it in. Day after next, we head
back home. And we will seek, in Galilee,
the kind of life we all appreciate---
forgetfulness and some stability,
like we once had before all this got started.
Now, keep your chin up, be not so downhearted.
Do not give into thoughts of crushing doom,
nor think about that promised, emptied tomb.
This Sunday will bring just another dawn:
we will be on our way by then and gone.
Starward
[jlc]
