inasmuch

I am a man called Job.
I lost my wealth, my home, my possessions, and even my children.
My pain is unbearable.
Some of my friends at least came to visit me (even if in silence),
But you never came.
     Kýrie, eléison.
     Kýrie, eléison.
I am the woman the vigilantes brought to Jesus.
I admit that I did it. I was unfaithful to my husband, and I am ashamed.
Jesus spoke to the crowd.
Then you picked up a stone and hurled it at me.
     Kýrie, eléison.
     Kýrie, eléison.
I am the guy who, somehow, came to owe you a lot of money.
I asked for patience, but you pressed charges and I ended up in prison.
I don't understand why the bank let you go when you got behind.
     Kýrie, eléison.
     Kýrie, eléison.
I was beaten and left hurting along the side of the road.
Maybe I even deserved the beating. The man who stopped to help didn't ask.
But you didn't even stop.
You just drove by again and again and again.
     Kýrie, eléison.
     Kýrie, eléison.
I was hungry
     and ye gave me no meat.
I was thirsty
     and ye gave me no drink.
I was naked
     and ye clothed me not.
I was sick and in prison (remember that not all prisons have bars)
     and ye visited me not.

     Kýrie, eléison.
     Kýrie, eléison.

Does God exist?
I want to believe.
But the people who follow Jesus won’t let me.

© panthera2, 2012.

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4 comments on “inasmuch

  1. charles says:

    Please, may we amend that last line, “But the people who follow Jesus won’t let me.” to state that one or two do reflect the true love of Jesus in your life?

  2. poetjena says:

    How pleasing I have found that which you have written here is to the eye. The symmetry. The rhythm. And I love the title. The way is narrow, but sometimes it can expand in an uptake of sudden breath. May the magic of language always be our guide : )

  3. walid ataya says:

    lovely piece, but don’t hope much…cheers

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