REAL IS JESUS
He stands at the door knocking.
Sometimes desperately, desperate
The heart of the King Of Kings..
But in my generations
After grandad and grammee..
Hearts of millions grow cold, dust
Gathers on seared, blackened, greased-
To-avoid-contact-with-love (consciences),
Speaking whispers of right’n wrong…
Sometimes maybe joyfully -
A friend dropping by for long,
Tasty night of dining, ripe,
Bountiful conversations-
Old things, wise, funny, new- time
To get to the baseball game…
Sometimes we open for a
Brief moment our hearts door, yay
And as we in fear and guilt
And whatever reasons sway
Quickly He gets his foot stilled
As it closes. Maybe swayed
This time our will to open
Or with his next words of Love,
Tears, and the next Truth and the
Next conviction until just
Enough of Him gets in and we
Burst at the heart as He, Love
Becomes our soulmate, friend- see
That He was what we needed
Even though we would not heed
The call, even when we knew
That was all that could save, even
When we judged ourselves wrongly-
Our destiny could not be
With the living Christ…. Or naught
At all. Sometimes its a cold
Door and ever winter. Blasts
Of fierce wrath from inside- fire,
Destructions as grenades cast
From heart’s windows- closed thence tight
Against all enemies’a self
Bearing down (tis thought) now, nigh
The simple, steady beat: A
Hand that washed disciple feet- firm,
Unrelenting, merciful,
Patient… Until, and I have
Seen this day- The enemy
Of God- and me that day - Stabs
Near blindly at Jesus’ hand
Jeering, hating, berating…
And with one loud knock: “That is
It! Choose life or death, today!
Right now! This moment it is!”
Be like me- Choose life. For a
Mountain range of hell worse thence
Could be believed awaits they
Who- beyond understanding -
Could choose death’s way… Then on death
Row the chaplain comes, The King
Comes. His servant’s His breath,
Hand knocks on the cell door. “We
Need to talk.” Maybe at the
Last the killer sees hope, bleeds
Herself down- a last supper -
And the iceberg breaks, for Love
Can melt the hardest heart. Sure
As a babe of four as I ‘for
I went Prodigal she pours
Her heart out and crying ‘side
Jesus melts into her so broken,
Mangled, war-zone-heart- to see
For mere men or lass would be
A journey of horrors, sufferings,
Evil things done and received
The garden variety
Church-Pew-sitter would ne’er be
The same, for good- Godly kind.
Singing a hymn from childhood
On her way home as someone
Puts the hood ‘execution
To signify the condemned…
Then one so battered he does
Not even recognize his
Long-time-Lord for.. months, years, days-
Happened to John the Baptist;
Happened to me. No lack of
Faith. Mind, being so broken
‘Just does not know what is thus
Real anymore.. Finally
Jesus gently opens. Gush
Of peace, joy, strength. As I see
His face I don’t recognize
For a long time. Then I half-
Do. And John The Baptist, I,
Send our messengers ‘cross paths
With our letter: “Art He thy
True self- Messiah, or past
Thee another truly He?”
And His reply is solely
One that could come only from
I AM: “Look at the mir’cles
Of the moon coursing above;
‘Member that neighbor child just
‘Bout died with that plague: I Love
Him, and he’s OK. Uncle
Who lost his son, as Father-
Mine for a time lost me. No
Man can see clearly so sure-
Unnatural a thing nor
Go on without the mir’cle
Of Me- My death, My comforts,
Able to take even these
Greatest of losses; redeem,
Make them meaningful, blessed… See
The Christian mother with sweet,
Pakistani eyes refuse
‘Deny me, being pregnant,
Sentenced to die. Unused, they,
Seeing such reprieves when she
Greets a guard while walking out
Whom she led to know Me, breaths
Out love in an embrace, sees
The ambulance- time for Baby,
Sees her husbands tears, meets the
Executioner again-
Averts he his eyes- for he she
Prays that today when I knock
On his hearts door, he would not
As every other day, but
In seeing my miracle
Would open just a hair, ‘nough
To get my toe in today,
‘Nough— For I chose him to save.”
And I, John, The Angels of
Heaven cheered and wept at the
Miracle of New Life. And
Slowly John and I and our
Good friends who’s minds broke began
To see and know what was real
Again. Real is Jesus.
He stands at the door knocking.
Sometimes desperately, desperate
The heart of the King Of Kings..
But in my generations
After grandad and grammee..
Hearts of millions grow cold, dust
Gathers on seared, blackened, greased-
To-avoid-contact-with-love (consciences),
Speaking whispers of right’n wrong…
Sometimes maybe joyfully -
A friend dropping by for long,
Tasty night of dining, ripe,
Bountiful conversations-
Old things, wise, funny, new- time
To get to the baseball game…
Sometimes we open for a
Brief moment our hearts door, yay
And as we in fear and guilt
And whatever reasons sway
Quickly He gets his foot stilled
As it closes. Maybe swayed
This time our will to open
Or with his next words of Love,
Tears, and the next Truth and the
Next conviction until just
Enough of Him gets in and we
Burst at the heart as He, Love
Becomes our soulmate, friend- see
That He was what we needed
Even though we would not heed
The call, even when we knew
That was all that could save, even
When we judged ourselves wrongly-
Our destiny could not be
With the living Christ…. Or naught
At all. Sometimes its a cold
Door and ever winter. Blasts
Of fierce wrath from inside- fire,
Destructions as grenades cast
From heart’s windows- closed thence tight
Against all enemies’a self
Bearing down (tis thought) now, nigh
The simple, steady beat: A
Hand that washed disciple feet- firm,
Unrelenting, merciful,
Patient… Until, and I have
Seen this day- The enemy
Of God- and me that day - Stabs
Near blindly at Jesus’ hand
Jeering, hating, berating…
And with one loud knock: “That is
It! Choose life or death, today!
Right now! This moment it is!”
Be like me- Choose life. For a
Mountain range of hell worse thence
Could be believed awaits they
Who- beyond understanding -
Could choose death’s way… Then on death
Row the chaplain comes, The King
Comes. His servant’s His breath,
Hand knocks on the cell door. “We
Need to talk.” Maybe at the
Last the killer sees hope, bleeds
Herself down- a last supper -
And the iceberg breaks, for Love
Can melt the hardest heart. Sure
As a babe of four as I ‘for
I went Prodigal she pours
Her heart out and crying ‘side
Jesus melts into her so broken,
Mangled, war-zone-heart- to see
For mere men or lass would be
A journey of horrors, sufferings,
Evil things done and received
The garden variety
Church-Pew-sitter would ne’er be
The same, for good- Godly kind.
Singing a hymn from childhood
On her way home as someone
Puts the hood ‘execution
To signify the condemned…
Then one so battered he does
Not even recognize his
Long-time-Lord for.. months, years, days-
Happened to John the Baptist;
Happened to me. No lack of
Faith. Mind, being so broken
‘Just does not know what is thus
Real anymore.. Finally
Jesus gently opens. Gush
Of peace, joy, strength. As I see
His face I don’t recognize
For a long time. Then I half-
Do. And John The Baptist, I,
Send our messengers ‘cross paths
With our letter: “Art He thy
True self- Messiah, or past
Thee another truly He?”
And His reply is solely
One that could come only from
I AM: “Look at the mir’cles
Of the moon coursing above;
‘Member that neighbor child just
‘Bout died with that plague: I Love
Him, and he’s OK. Uncle
Who lost his son, as Father-
Mine for a time lost me. No
Man can see clearly so sure-
Unnatural a thing nor
Go on without the mir’cle
Of Me- My death, My comforts,
Able to take even these
Greatest of losses; redeem,
Make them meaningful, blessed… See
The Christian mother with sweet,
Pakistani eyes refuse
‘Deny me, being pregnant,
Sentenced to die. Unused, they,
Seeing such reprieves when she
Greets a guard while walking out
Whom she led to know Me, breaths
Out love in an embrace, sees
The ambulance- time for Baby,
Sees her husbands tears, meets the
Executioner again-
Averts he his eyes- for he she
Prays that today when I knock
On his hearts door, he would not
As every other day, but
In seeing my miracle
Would open just a hair, ‘nough
To get my toe in today,
‘Nough— For I chose him to save.”
And I, John, The Angels of
Heaven cheered and wept at the
Miracle of New Life. And
Slowly John and I and our
Good friends who’s minds broke began
To see and know what was real
Again. Real is Jesus.