Letting Jesus Go (Lenten Poem # 4)

Do not cling to me, he says,
I’m not made that way,

Neither are you.

She holds on anyway, for dear life,

For the smell of him, for the hope of

Simple feasts and huge crowds eating fish

And the kinds of protests that stop

Empires and emperors in their tracks.

Do not cling, he says,

Remember how we learned to love and

Remember how we learned to forgive and

Remember how we learned to feed one another

By letting go.

She holds on a moment more,
His name now in her hands,

Wanting the muscles in his back and the

Fabric in her hands and the

Victory she tastes sweetly in her mouth

To last forever and ever and ever.

It is good, very good, and

Isn’t that the point of it all?

Do not cling to me, he says,

Love is set free even today, even when love

Is in your sweet believing hands.

Especially when it is.

It is the hardest thing, I know.
It is the necessary thing, I believe.

Release then every certainty, every victory, even this tender moment,

And then follow where I lead you,

Back into wild city streets and out into hot hungry fields,

And down into forgotten prison cells and up the high peaks

To see that all of it, all of this, all of us

Is holy again.

She pulls him close and sets him free
And his words are her words now,

And his feast is hers to host,

And his defiant, loving protest against

Violence and injustice is Mary's now,

And ours.