Happy Sunday to you, reader, and I am glad you make the time to read these posts. This one I wrote many years ago, and on Sundays I find some poem that highlights Christ Jesus.
This rabbi was the strangest man. He hardly wrote a line.
He spoke on hills, near streams, in ports with words of great design.
He asked “What profit can you gain to covet selfish goals?
What way of life can people claim who march with leather souls?”
He rubbed his spit on man’s blind sight and said to wash them free.
The man rejoiced as night turned bright; the others would not see.
Arrested by a mob’s death wish, accused by men in dark,
He had the court of a hooked fish thrown in a sea of sharks.
Some ponder now that ancient site, long after icons dull—
They raised him up, those men of might, to die upon a skull.
This Teacher’s words, alive today, speak out from hearts and shelves.
The crime his judges had to slay? He made them see themselves.