This body, this blood

I have not walked through Nazareth

as a king granting power and riches.

I have not put one of our enemies to flight,

made them bow to their wrongs and our rights,

nor saved our children from the darkest night.

I am not an angel –  I only healed some of them.

And I did not walk through Jerusalem

as the One who separates sheep from goats,

condemning what has or has not been done,

I did not come as a judge or priest or mother

forgiving sins we cannot anyway forget.

I am not a sorcerer – nothing I did was magic.

I told stories, so we’d think about the law:

what to do for the rich and the poor;

when to make peace and how to face war.

Who is our sister, neighbour and lover?

Should we defer to a master or brother,

Is Satan a tempter?  Is God a father?

I asked how we can be loving in spirit,

content with bread whilst thirsting knowledge;

and using our talents while remaining meek,

neither a zealot, nor a hypocrite.

And what should we sacrifice, what should we save?

The coin from the fish?  A body from the grave?

I came because truth is here, though hidden,

the same as on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Because there is God and right and wrong

I swept the whole house and lit a lantern,

turned out the temple, made a stand,

wrote in dust what we can’t understand.

The smell of burnt offerings is not enough.

I desire perfume and the finest cloth,

to pluck ears of corn, drink wine, taste fig,

help haul in the fish and weep for the dead,

to share my body and shed my blood,

I came for all the blessings of love.

Consider lilies looking up at the sky,

count the sparrows that flutter and die

proclaiming the importance of their tiny lives;

then share with me this bread, this wine,

body and blood of all living kinds

who share the same sea, soil and rain,

who die, become dust and live again.