This Poem was Submitted By: Darlene A Moore On Date: 2002-04-09 22:41:47 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Does this Mean I have to Give Up My Featherbed

You did not turn stones to bread on the dry, dusty roads of your life, Christ. For yourself, your own comfort, what did you do---nothing, ever? No recorded self-centered act? The water to wine trick... that was at your mother's insistence. And did you have a taste of it yourself? The fig tree without figs---it became a parable, not a fit of peevishness. Like the branches that refuse to bear fruit are lopped off. Hey, I get it: faith without works ---that trip James explained. The pressing, demanding crowds who barged in on your quiet times... Christ, Lord, you fed them with  broken pieces of bread and fish, not words of admonishment. You did not turn one leper away, one more interruption to the day, instead you healed, you cleansed... Oh, you had a fit of anger there in the market-place of a Temple and a few un-minced words to lawyers and Pharisees...but left even them room for repentance. And after all this poured out love, the substance of your life and death, you dare ask us to love one another as you have loved us ?? and call it a new commandment? Oh, Lord, how can it be?!

Copyright © April 2002 Darlene A Moore


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