Thursday, March 13, 2014

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.