We are but flesh, after all,
“A passing breeze that does not return,
As unreliable as a faulty bow.”
How
then would we presume to
Put God to the test, “to vex the Holy One
of Israel?”
To belittle His itinerate preacher, to
question His credentials?
Would
we also huddle on the sandy road through town,
Snickering at His uneducated, haughty
claims?
Vying to bring His impudence down to size?
Would
we tell that upstart to shake the dust from his feet
As he leaves? Would we sneer that He, so
ordinary,
Dares to moralize and claim to heal and
drive out evil?
Would
we be amazed by Him, or He, by our lack of faith?
How hard it is to accept redemption
packaged as one of us,
So human, so marvelously divine, calling
us into communion.
How
easily we slither into contempt for the prophet in his own country,
Failing to recognize the Godhead in His
glory,
Failing to divine the holy in each other.
Yet
no thunder claps, no sleet destroys the figs, nor hail the grapes,
God, “awaking as from sleep,” vindicates
His covenant with Love
Clad as a hometown boy, someone’s brother,
someone’s Son.
Stuart Dopp
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