The Scourging

Prince of Peace made a scourge of cords to drive them all out
The theives with murder in their eyes
The murderers with money in their fists
Overturner of corruption, by zeal consumed
For what your Father's house had become
Prayer exchanged for trade

Eternal truth for material gain
Man, the measure of all; God, the judge of all
Meeting in you; your hands and feet moving
So fast, to make it all stop
Perhaps you were thinking of your thieving betrayer
Empty-fisted, to swing in the field of silver

Or your scourging to be meeted out by your amoral judge
Or the robber they would let go of, or the two thieves
You would spend your last moments between
But here, here was power to make a clean sweep
Of indifference, compromise, injustice
To use your hands and feet, so soon to be pinned down

Defiantly, definately, deftly to make swift what was required
Mercy, not sacrifice; justice as a fast flowing stream
My Lord, it was to the sellers of doves that you spoke
I imagine tears behind your eyes, scourge of cords in your hand
Dust on your feet, and passion burning in your heart
For this, your Father's only earthly house

And the judgement, the judgement was made
As the coins fell through the air; the glory departed
The temple, soon to be razed to the ground
The temple, a structure thus doomed
The temple, now embodied in a human frame
And death, yours and mine, to be consumed

What will I do no matter what?

When nothing has worked out and I’m counting the cost
I’ll write my own psalm
Picture your dark garden night and the silver gleaming in Judas’ palm

Blood Brother's Blood

My blood boiled
It was so hot out there in the field tilling and tilling
Spilling my sweat to soften mama and papa’s curse
Attached to me before my birthing, hardly fair
Kicking and screaming, they said, I emerged
A blinking manchild into a new day dawning
So bad it was, they said, God Almighty himself had to help
Get me out

Believe me
It wasn’t easy extracting life from out of that damned earth
That bloody fruit will hang over me to my dying day
A sign of my inadequacy
Dripping with jealous juice for him, younger smug son
Striving always I was, am still, a man for all seasons
Hands bleeding at nightfall
Feet caked in mud

My offering was born of my bent back
I was never good enough
Not for them, or for him or for God Almighty
I tried, I really did, to sing His praises
But would feel father's steel gaze boring into my skull
In the sweltering heat
It made me so, so mad
They all knew, all of them, what my offering was really made of

Even the livestock skipping in golden boy’s field knew it
So snug in their animal skins
No wonder my coutenence fell when God Almighty leaned towards him
Lazing, gazing upon his grazing stock
Whilst I kissed the dismal dust
No wonder sin pounced and devoured
What was left of my God-given goodness
You must master it?

You mayest master it?
My choice to open the door and unleash that sharp-teethed dog?
My choice to murder my God-given brother?
However, my resume is noteworthy
I was the one who lived despite my dogged early years
A vagrant, a wanderer, climbed the ladder to be the first city's builder
Father of culture, a murderer marked by God’s mercy
A workoholic

And humanity unfurled from my line, mine
But in rising early and sleeping so little, so late
I’d hear my pumping red heart by day
In the beating of the steel
In the sharpening of spears
But at night in restless slumber I’d know what was the sound
It was my blood brother’s blood crying out for vengence
From that dammed bloody curse of my ground