Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Magdalene

My family said
He’ll never amount
to anything…

a carpenter
from Nazareth

running around
with a bunch of
fishermen

having those
happenings
where everyone
and I mean everyone
is welcome;

and those rumors
about his mother,

Oy!

But I have an education
and my own money

so screw
the naysayers.

I like Him
even though
He’s a little skinny
and needs taking care of;

He has charisma
and a brilliant mind.

Anybody can see that

but He also
has an indefinable something
a quiet power
that holds Him steady
even when things are
going to Sheol in a hand basket
all around Him.

I respect that.

How many men do you know
who can walk on water?

Oh, a lot of them
think they can

just like a lot of them
think I’m slumming
with the radicals
and I’ll get over it.

They just don’t…

I can’t explain it.

When He talks to me
it’s as if
He puts the words
right into my head
and my heart
catches fire.

That freak who holds
the purse strings
for His followers
is a right asshole

not for trying to tell me
what to do…

that’s just being a man;

but for not comprehending
what He’s all about.

This kind of war
won’t be won with chariots
or spears
or even revolution.

This is a delicate thing
fought inside each soul
between darkness and light
one person at a time.

He is the oil
that keeps the lamps burning.
He is the fire
that makes the lamps bright.

He is probably
too dangerous to live.

Why shouldn’t I offer Him
the anointing He deserves
just because others
can’t see how
the most magnificent kings
come bearing peace?

The woman with the alabaster jar

The woman with the alabaster jar

(c) RCGA 2015

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