He came back from the desert
sunburnt and empty-eyed
but full of something more
walked straight into the synagogue
dust in his hair
cracks in his voice
takes the scroll like it’s his birthright
or a dare
starts reading Isaiah
like he means it
Good News for the poor
freedom for the caged
sight for the blind
He read those words like a bartender
pouring sweet bourbon
no flourish no trick
just a hard truth that stings your throat
they sat there silent at first
like gamblers who knew
the house always wins
Then came the murmurs—
who the hell does he think he is
Joseph’s boy the carpenter’s son
Get him out
shut him up
they dragged him out
tossed him toward the cliff
not for the blasphemy
no—
but because he pulled the curtain back
and showed them their own dirty laundry
hanging like condemned men
they couldn’t stand it—
this messiah with rough hands
no fancy robes or gold-threaded words
just promises for the broken
no salvation for the righteous
and isn’t that the way
they still do it—
open doors but slam hearts shut
preach grace from the pulpit
but lace it with stones
Good News is always a scandal—
churches like their messiahs clean
without calluses or scars
They want God in neat packages
without the sweat
without the blood
but Jesus
He read the Good News
like a punch to the gut—
for the poor the blind the lost
and they threw him out—
because
grace is a troublemaker
that doesn’t leave anyone standing
where they started
(C) Richard Gordon Zyne
-
Author:
R. Gordon Zyne (
Offline) - Published: September 29th, 2024 08:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
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Comments1
Which say to the seers, See not; and to the prophets, Prophesy not unto us right things, speak unto us smooth things, prophesy deceits:
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