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| "Christ Among Children" (Emil Nolde, 1910) |
How you bowed before the soiled children and entertained
Their leaping and screeching and their clothing in pieces.
What could they know of your cross, our urgent calling?
There was only dust in their nails and sweet ignorance.
I was wracked by pain, worlds in disarray,
And you turned to scrawny street kids,
Lifting them and laughing into their dirty hair.
I'm embarrassed by you now, brother on the cross,
How you look with love upon cynic soldiers
And speak peace to petty criminals
And bless these others, these sad, broken, grieving friends.
I did not see the children in the road, I turned from you
And did not see their longing, their surrender, their gratitude.
You did not ask for my advice, my permission,
And gladly swept one, and another, and another
Into your arms, the arms of God.
Yet you look my way now, my brother on the cross,
Asking me to walk slowly the dry paths of Palestine,
To turn to the little ones,
To bow to them as to you,
To lift them high in love.
Without embarrassment.
NOTE: This Lent, I've taken on a practice of writing poetry, every few days. It's just one way of watching for the Spirit, culling out the unnecessary, and turning toward the One I follow. Some days, I wonder if it makes any difference; and others, I'm convinced that it does.
