Holy Tuesday
The purple fruits hung in bulging clusters,
their juice running down the sampler’s chin,
Beautiful to see and wonderful to pick and
mouthwatering, tartness and sweetness as
the grapes burst, giving up their fruitfulness.
—
The vines, like people have roots deep down
in the soil of their youth, but there are those
who choose to rule by cruelty, might and fear
they grow tall and strongly, overshadowing
the poorer, weaker plants absorbing their life.
—–
Love has a vineyard, worked for the good,
To grow fruits of peace and hope and joy we
need manure and compost of spiritual growth,
but they grew their fruit rotten with greed and
their souls as empty as their vacated hearts.
—–
It is not a place of power and control but open
to welcome the lame and the sick, old and young
so that equality reigns and all share the goodness.
A place and time where timid children are safe,
and women free to be completely themselves.
We all live in vineyards where the pauper reigns,
for it’s the kingdom of God celebrating diversity,
a world loved and graced by his woundedness,
working, growing, diligently aspiring to be just,
like the son who was killed for caring too much.