The big question

Haiku for disciples

It’s the big question:
Who do people say I am?
Have to think on that.

A prophet, for sure;
just like John the Baptiser,
even Elijah!

But what about you,
you who journey beside me
you who know me well?

Breaking the silence
Peter, fisherman, spoke up:
You must be the Christ!

Perhaps I am he,
but do not speak of these things;
they won’t understand.

He began to teach:
The Son of Man will suffer
and he will be killed.

Once more to Peter:
Please don’t talk like that, he said;
This cannot be true.

It is true for me,
and it will be true for you,
if you follow me.

To gain the whole world
is not the same as true life;
to gain, you must lose.

Be my followers.
Take up your cross, just like me,
and take on the world!

 

© Ken Rookes 2018

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But who do you say that I am?

Haiku for answering.

What do people say,
Jesus asked his followers;
Who’s the Son of Man?

Some say John the B,
Elijah, Jeremiah,
or other prophet.

Fair enough, he said.
But you mob, what do you say?
Tell me, who am I?

Simon Peter said,
You are the Christ, Messiah;
the living God’s Son.

Good answer, Peter!
This insight is not your own,
it’s from God above.

My good man, Rocky,
I’ll build my church upon you;
you’ll hold heaven’s keys.

What you bind on earth
will be so bound in heaven.
What you loose, as well.

And, by the way, guys,
that thing about Messiah;
keep it to yourselves.

 

© Ken Rookes 2017

The Messiah must die

We fail to comprehend it, the truth, the question: why

there is no rhyme, no reason, the Messiah-man must die.

We worship with the mighty, the wealthy and great

the proof is in the fortune, the seal is in the fate.

No home is builded for the poor, no place here for the weak,

we venerate the famous, whose countenance we seek.

We beg for their approval, we crave their affirmation,

to tell us that we matter, to give us validation.

The teacher has come near to us, we watched him walking past.

We paused, we listened to his words; we wonder will they last?

The teacher has come near us with love and with his wisdom;

he shows us how to break the rules, we draw back from his freedom.

We are searching for a leader, a commander for the troops,

to take us where we want to go, to walk triumphal routes;

but the road he chose is weakness, it is folly, it is risk;

had we known at the beginning we never would enlist.

He turns the order downside up; he surely is misguided.

He makes the undeserving friends while good folks are derided.

He simply cannot be the one, he’s surely not the Christ

and if he will not go away, he must be sacrificed.

The end was quietly arranged, his death, it was expedient.

The night, it drew the curtain, the tomb it was convenient.

Well-buried was his message, well buried was the trouble;

along with his suggestions that the walls would soon be rubble.

But the stories won’t stay buried, the rumours are insistent,

his followers are foolish, too, they speak of life persistent;

declare his risen presence, and call themselves his witness.

They live with grace and wonder, and love that is life’s litmus

© 2012 Ken Rookes