Saturday, 29 August 2009

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

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