Jesus Wept

Blessed are the poor
in spirit and in
means, He said.

But they are poor
because they drink
and do drugs, we said.

Blessed are they
that mourn
for loss of love
and light and hope
and weep. 

Mourn with them, He said.

But they deserve
pain; we are better
than them.
Why should it matter
that my brother was
in chains and is now
seeking to be free?
Or that my sister
was deeply burdened
and needs help
to shed the load?
I don't like the
colour of their skin, 

their smell, their clothes.
We'll shackle them
to the wall until
they lose their minds,
we said.

Blessed are the meek
and lowly of the earth,
He said.

But they don't have the
right paperwork.
They are lazy.
Don't give them food.
Don't help them
freeloaders.
They bleed our
country dry, we said.

Blessed are they who
seek for righteousness
and truth, and hunger
for hope, He said.

But I do not like
the way they worship.
Or that book of theirs
is strange. They are a
cult. They are terrorists.
They are beasts, we said.

Blessed are the merciful,
He said.

But he doesn't deserve it.
She wronged me once.
He is evil.
She is mean, we said.

Blessed are the pure
in heart, He said.

But she isn't pure.
She was asking for it.
He couldn't help himself, we said.

Blessed are the
peacemakers, He said.

He can't be, he is wrong.
He is selfish. He sins.
She is weak. She fails
sometimes, we said.

All this,
you do to Me,
He said.

And Jesus wept.

© Eleanor Clark
8 December, 2014