Noises From the Machine
In a jagged-edged caps-lock world
Where angry strangers rage-tweet "F*@% YOUR FEELINGS"
You wept with the heartbroken.
In a world of flaming deplorables and molten snowflakes
Where hate spews like sulfurous geysers,
You embraced the untouchable.
In a fake-news alternate-fact world
Where expedience trumps evidence,
You told the truth no matter the cost.
No wonder that the Light shines in the darkness
And the darkness does not comprehend it.
Moonlike, your moods
Wax and wane
Night by night,
Each phase lovelier
Than the last,
Mysterious, heart-catching,
Sometimes cloud-shrouded,
Always stareworthy,
Never boring or old,
Fascinating me even when
Cloaked in shadow.
Did you love the scribes,
The Pharisees, the Sadducees
Who spilled your blood
By Pilate’s well-washed hands
At the dump on the edge of town?
Did you pray for them
Before raining seven woes on them,
After,
Or neither?
Were they the ones you wept over,
Longing to cover them
With strong protecting wings?
You were no hypocrite, so I think
You must have prayed
and wept for them
In those few precious moments
In the middle of the night
When no one clamored
For your attention
Your miracles
Your teaching
And you could be alone
With your beloved father.
If you could do that
For men who hated
everything about you,
Who mocked and scorned you,
Crowned you with thorns,
Spat on you and ripped
Your back into a slurry
Of blood and torn flesh,
And hung you naked to suffocate
In a public, shameful place,
Despised, rejected,
Acquainted with grief —
If you could love them,
Then surely I can love
These fearful hand-wringing
Reactionary nutjobs
Who invent conspiracies
About stolen elections,
Who deny our responsibility
To steward the world you gave us,
Who would rather suppress dissent
Than see justice flow down like waters,
Who think they’re victims
Of a new Holocaust
Because they tweeted something offensive
And got dragged for it.
O Lord Christ,
I cannot love such a love
Unless it is your love in me.
Remove my disdain,
My sarcastic judgments
On these brethren,
Your adopted sons
And my fellow servants.
Cast out my demonic pride
And replace it with your grace.
Help me to see their pain and fear
And to weep with their weeping.
Let my speech be unerringly kind,
Seasoned with salt,
And rare enough
To be significant.
May I be quick to hear,
Slow to speak,
Slow to anger,
And may everything I do say
Be born of Your Spirit in me.
Love them through me
With your divine love, O Lord,
For you know my own
Is cold and insufficient.
