Does This Mean I have to give up my Featherbed?

The question is what does God require of you, and what are
you willing to do in response?

You did not turn stones to bread
on the dry, dusty roads of your life, Christ.
For yourself, your own comfort, what did you do
—-nothing, ever?
No recorded self-centered act?
The water to wine trick….
That was at your mother’s insistence.
And did you have a taste of it yourself?
The fig tree without figs—it became a parable,
not a fit of peevishness.
Like the branches that refuse to bear fruit:
lopped off and thrown on the brush pile.
Hey, I get it: faith without works—
that trip James explained.

The pressing demanding crowds
who barged in on your quiet times…
Christ, Lord, you fed them with broken pieces
of bread and fish—not words of admonishment.
You did not turn one leper away,
one more interruption to the day.
Instead you healed, you cleansed…you forgave.
Oh, you had a fit of anger there
in the market-place of a Temple and a few
un-minced words to lawyers and Pharisees…
But left even them room for repentance.

And after all this poured out love
the substance of your life and death,
you dare ask us to love one another
as you have loved us?
And call it a new commandment?
Oh, Lord, how can it be?

c. Darlene Moore Berg


1 Comment

Filed under Religious

One response to “Does This Mean I have to give up my Featherbed?

  1. the tone of this poem is interesting…sarcasm? irony? You might think it would change, soften a little in the last stanza, but it doesn’t. Is that a further comment on the hardness of our hearts?
    michael berg

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