An unlikely yoking: Poems of the Incarnation (4)

 

For the Harvest
Ask the Lord of the harvest to send out workers…. Matthew 9:38

He doesn’t necessarily want
professional preachers,
TV evangelists,
or super-apostles.
He wants persons
like you and me
who are willing to learn
to say the words
and do the stuff.
Apparently the Almighty
chooses not to do it alone.
Chooses us.

Supporting Actor
… a man with a shriveled hand was there. Mark 3:1

The man with the shriveled hand
was not the hero of his story.
He was given no speaking parts,
his character was not developed,
and only once was he asked
to stand before the audience.
The protagonists—Jesus and his accusers—
took the stage,
moved the plot forward,
and carried off the non-conclusion
with a sense of suspense
for all that would follow.

Yet that silent secondary actor
walked out into the morning,
his hand healed,
his life changed.


To the Jesus I See in Matthew
(to the me I see)
He who does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Matthew 10:38

My Lord,
I long to delight you
as you delight the Father,
but I fear your anger.
I can’t live up to your demands.
My heart is not pure.
It’s hard to forgive.
It’s hard to have faith.
My prayers for healing fall short.
My eyes and ears don’t pick up on nuance.
There’s much I don’t understand.
Have mercy on me.
That’s all I can pray.
Lord Jesus Christ,
Son of the living God,
have mercy on me,
a sinner.


An Unlikely Yoking
Come to me, all you who are weary…. Take my yoke upon you…. Matthew 11;28-29

God blesses us with rest,
then places an implement
of work around our necks,
gives us a load to carry on our backs,
and places us in a field.
He makes us his apprentices,
teaches us to rest as we work,
to labor in peace.
We return home
at the end of the day,
strangely refreshed.

Inappropriate Choices: Poems of the Incarnation (3)

I Thought/He Says

Matthew 8-11

I thought it was
honor your father and mother
cling to your wife/husband
raise your children
love

He says
leave them all
don’t even bury your dad
don’t wait ‘til they all grow up
follow me
now

I thought his name was
Mighty God, High-and-Lifted-Up
Don’t-dare-look-me-in-the-face

He calls himself
humble teacher
gentle of heart
says come, learn, rest

I thought labor meant
hard work
competition
sleepless nights
exhaustion

He says
no sweat
let’s do this together

I thought cross meant
pain
suffering
shame
death

He says
hoist it
your custom-made backpack
dying is the easy part
let’s go hiking


Inappropriate
He saw Levi … sitting at the tax collector’s booth. “Follow me,” Jesus told him. Mark 2:14

I’m confused, Jesus,
by your inappropriate choices.
Considering your credentials,
you could be more selective,
adopt higher standards.
Levi? Tax collector, traitor
to his people, collaborator
with the enemy. Come on, Jesus.
You can do better than that.
Do you really want to include
marginal people on your executive
council? Consider the publicity.
It might cost you the election
to whatever post you have in mind.
Think of your image.
  

Invitation
“Follow me,” Jesus told him…. Mark 2:14

It comes when least expected
In the middle of the night
I awaken, dream pictures
drifting away,
and on the edge of consciousness,
“Follow me.”
At my computer
pondering how to respond
to a difficult message,
the reminder,
“Follow me.”
Walking to the office,
head down, worrying
this task or the other,
a gentle nudge,
“Follow me.”
At the moment of temptation
to irritation—the inappropriate
remark, the socially inept
gesture—he whispers,
“Follow me.”
It’s there at the unanticipated
turn, the interruption,
the sudden darkness.
Throughout the day
and into the night,
alone or in a crowd,
when I’m ready
and when I’m not,
the offered hand, 
the quiet word, “Come.
Follow me.”

 

The Lonely Places: Poems of the Incarnation (2)

The Lonely Places

Very early in the morning… Jesus got up … and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Mark 1:35; 14:32-42

He sought out the lonely places
in the darkness before dawn.
The wild places drew him—
the desert, a mountain trail,
a spot between the roots
of an ancient oak. A stream close by
gurgled its own prayer.
There in the solitude
he sat in silence
or wrestled with words,
holding the world’s agony
in his heart. There he listened.
Three years hence, he would pray
in a garden. No place
would ever be more lonely.


Indignant
Jesus was indignant. He reached out his hand and touched the man…. Mark 1:41

It was a brief but uneasy encounter.
On his knees and using his beggar voice,
If you want to you could heal me,
the scruffy man pleaded.
It irritated Jesus,
this whining attempt at manipulation.
Even so—the touch.
Leprosy spots vanished,
the man rose to his feet.
With no tender words, Jesus
demanded silence.
Was the man listening?
It seems not. He went out
and bragged so freely
Jesus had to leave town.
It was not the best of encounters.


Willing
Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean. Luke 5:12

The leper had heard of the miracles,
possibly witnessed a healing or two,
but he doubted any of it could apply to him.
Not only miracles, but basic good luck
was something that happened to other people.
And so the face-in-the-dirt
tentative groping, the if-you-are-willing request.
The first miracle, and possibly the greatest,
was that Jesus touched him, laid a hand on his skin
without shuddering.
And then the impossible words,
I am willing. These words reach down
the years, touch my skin and my fear,
tell me my future is as good
as the mercies of God.
He’s willing.


I Am Willing
Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. Matthew 8:3

I confess I’m like
the man with leprosy.
I approach Jesus hesitantly,
with trepidation.
I’ve had this condition for so long.
I’ve asked before, and nothing happened.
Others have prayed for me.
People with impressive healing ministries
have laid hands on me and ordered
the illness to leave. It stayed.
I’ve disappointed a lot of people.
What do I make of the promises?
Am I the exception to the rule
that Jesus heals every disease and sickness?
I’m still waiting to hear him say to me,
I’m willing.