and we will learn to sing songs
that make the birds blush and the hills dance.
He says, Follow,
and we will lay down our weapons,
take up palm branches and kindness,
offer our lives as our witness to hope.
He says, Watch,
and we will see new patterns in the sky,
new pathways to communion and respect.
He says, Watch,
and we will learn to bow to one another,
and kneel before the needs of our friends.
He says, Truth
is no longer (and never was) a threat,
but is instead the life we weave together,
of compassion and compromise,
of confession and covenant,
of courage and koinonia.
With grateful, broken hearts, we follow,
to seek salvation in the very frailty
that sanctifies our procession,
and this scented spring, this Mount of Olives.
We are no army, and we bear no rifles, no clubs.
We are simply and only beloved, joined in faith,
resisting every certainty, seeking only peace.
Shalom.
These branches, our lives,
these hopes, our intentions,
these holy prayers, our bread and wine.
Shalom.
A Poem for Palm Sunday,
in a practice of Holy Week poetry.
DGJ / 3.28.21
