Preacherman in the Hands of an Angry Sinner
Hey! Preacherman!
Who do you think you are,
Waving that big black Bible
Like God’s own tommy-gun,
Spraying scripture bullets
All over the congregation,
Piercing them with your judgments?
Fool!
Can’t you see they’re already wounded?
Show me where Jesus
Got him a big old pulpit and fancy robes,
Shook his fists,
Shouted himself red-faced.
Preacherman,
Why don’t you come down
Like Jesus among lepers.
Touch the people
With healing words?
Then we’ll pass around the bread and the wine
And celebrate until Kingdom come.
Written after a week in which Hezbollah in Lebanon and the Israeli forces exchanged missiles.
For a Child Dying Young
Missiles come screaming out of the northern sky
Like demons of fire.
Jets come roaring out of the southern sky
Silver death angels spitting death and destruction on the earth.
Hagar’s children lie
Bodies twisted
Bleeding in Lebanon…
Sarah’s children lie
Bodies battered
Bleeding in Israel…
Abraham weeps.
Abraham weeps for his children.
Abraham weeps for his children
Dying
Twisted, battered, bleeding in the sand.
Abraham weeps and cries out,
“Where are You
Lord God?”
“I have become as a child, Abraham,
Body bruised
Body burnt
Beneath the cedars of Lebanon.
I have become as a child
Body bruised
Body burnt
Beneath the olive trees of Haifa.
I have become as a child,
Charred and lifeless,
Dying in the rubble.
I, the Lord your God, weep for Abraham’s children.
I, the Lord your God, weep.
For Abraham’s children have beaten their ploughshares into swords.”
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