After he flipped the damned tables,
Raging at red-faced liars and happy hypocrites,
Turning the heads of his own freaked-out friends--
He gathered his thoughts, he took a deep breath
And returned to the union hall, to the church basement,
To the kitchen tables at the edge of town--
And he did there what he'd been doing all along:
Organizing and teaching, praying and dreaming,
Inviting any with ears to hear to march
Without weapons and overthrow hatred with love.
Flipping tables, to be sure, is a sign of things to come,
A reminder--etched in memory--that God will not be mocked.
But it's hardly a sustainable strategy now,
And surely a dangerous way to build a new world--
Where tables are altars of sustenance,
And sacred centers for restless hope and conversation.
So we gather our thoughts--peoples of fierce tenderness--
And we say a prayer for the moneychangers and princes of profit.
To follow him now is to open our many hearts to all that he's for,
To all the risky visions he carries in his human heart:
And to leave behind the grievance and rage
That have sustained us these many months of madness.
We might even thank that same grievance, give thanks for the rage,
For they have served us well--as they did him in the temple then.
But the work of the kin-dom awaits,
And the raising of new temples, new barns of plenty, is at hand.
We breathe deeply, we sigh grieving, and yes believing:
To follow him now is to enact his jubilee, to repair the breach,
To say to the captive children: Be free!
To say to the nations: Come home!
DGJ
11/6/20
Election Week 2020
