Altars
There is an art
to the ministry of receiving.
It requires some deep clearing of one’s pride
the cleansing (in me) of resentment
that I can not somehow
be more, all on my own.
Flex my bicep a bigger bump
to carry my own weight.
Aaaah, but biceps were made for lifting
not pushing oneself up on whatever crutches.
So carry I did
for a day in Gennesaret.
And the pain loosened round my chest
and my eyes cleared to look at the lost and hurting
and my exhaustion faded
(for a moment).
The bicep
(now strengthened)
was reminded to lift in supplication
at the altar in Gennesaret
to One who dragged his robe
through the streets of the marketplace
to make us whole.
Amen
Roasted Words 