See, I am sending you.

A cluster of haiku.

As lambs among wolves,
so, my friends, I send you out:
bearers of good news.

Pronounce God’s shalom.
The blessing will find a home
in children of peace.

As they welcome you
those people, too, will be blessed;
God’s reign coming near.

Not all will listen,
some will not see the kingdom.
Still, it has come near.

 

© Ken Rookes 2016

Birds of the air have nests

Let me be a bird of the air
embracing the freedom of flight,
with a nest to come home to at night.

Let me be a fox of the fields
ranging the bush and the hills,
with a sheltering hole from night’s chills.

A lizard among grass and stones,
I would rest, contemplating the sun,
and retreat to my rock when day’s done.

The Son of Man, we are told,
had no place to lay his kind head;
at least not until he was dead.

I would be called a disciple;
let love guide my feet as I roam
dusty paths toward my true home.

© Ken Rookes 2016

My name is Legion

Legion were my hauntings,
and numerous the years of their torments.
Great was my nakedness,
and multiple the chains and shackles
that lay rusting among the weeds,
failed and broken.
Vast was my hopelessness,
deep my despair,
and terrible the fear
evoked by my unholy presence.
Many were my dwellings
among the tombs outside the city.
Considering myself dead,
I was at home there;
and at the same time, lost.

Manifold were the blessings
from the hand of the Galilean;
who arrived, uninvited,
at this desolate place,
to speak his words of healing,
hope,
Liberty and life.
They sent him away;
I would have gone with him.
“Return to your people,”
he told me. “Be a living declaration
of the wonders of God.”

I did as he said.
My heart,
however,
followed him to Jerusalem.

© Ken Rookes 2016

An alabaster jar

As is their wont, the Pharisees grumble
at the wastefulness of a woman;
who, in this story of beauty and grace,
spills her precious ointment upon Jesus’ feet.

They also grumble
at the wastefulness of the anointed one,
who, in his larger story of grace and beauty
pours love upon the undeserving.

Forgiveness and love, spilled with abandon;
this is the message of his living.
Consider this;
you who are wont to grumble.

© Ken Rookes 2016