You worship him
as if he wasn't just like you.
But why did he come?
Only to reveal that your body
and the Lord of Love
were born of one mother.
His blood and yours is beaten
to a froth by her heart.
His sole is covered with the same dust.
Both say, I Am.
The I's are different, but the Am is one.
You bend and wash his feet with weeping,
dry them with your fallen hair.
He can barely tolerate such behavior.
Soon he pulls you toward his lips
and whispers your true name.
He fills you like a reed with breath.
Then he bows to You.
Which must be why you feel a secret yearning
to prostrate your flesh before the wildest flower,
the pulsating stone, the un-created sky.
You might well genuflect your life away
were it not for the pure white veil
of learning: tear it off!
The tears of a fool are jewels.
Shatter your crown on a forget-me-not,
a worm-encrypted clump of loam
at the ragged edge of the pasture, the gaze
of a lost Honduran boy across the wall.
Haven’t we come here to wash
each other from head to toe
as we might bathe a newborn child,
a grandfather's corpse?
Friend, what pours from these eyes
is the ocean of forgiveness.
from the website of Clairmont School of Theology.
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