Monday, April 2, 2012

Holy Week: Monday


You, once, two-thousand years ago,
Were a man. Would that I could
Grasp the truth of that reality.
When you walked, dust puffed up
In muffled protest to the tread of your
Sandaled, dirty feet. The same feet were
Washed with tears and anointed with
Perfume, dried with a woman's
Tumbling hair. Did, I wonder, that
Thick, rich perfume sting against cuts
And blisters from days of traveling?
When the people pressed close
About you, and you strained your
Throat already sore from days
of speaking to reach the outskirts of the people,
Did the smell of their sweat and
Their unwashed bodies reach you?
Did it bother you? But all this,
It is merely the skin, the senses
Were you ever lonely for the dance
Of eternities you had momentarily left
To get to know us? You were angry,
Once at least, and how your eyes
Must have blazed. How many sunrises
Did you watch as you hid in the wilderness
With your Father? I wonder whether
You ever stood silent, heart shattering
Because of the beauty of this
Broken, burdened world.
Perhaps you too, along with the
Spirit, are groaning for our redemption
And the restoring of the earth.
For you too were a man, you knew
and still know our sufferings and the
trials of the human race. Would that
I could grasp that truth more fully.

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