THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN

THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN

 

 

. . . which I will not keep

for the evangelist.

Not for the eagle looking 

down on the world

his Jesus saves with secrets.

My Jesus looks me in the eye.

He doesn’t tell me who he is,

over and over again.

He tells me who I am,

as he told, I like to think,

that sweet boy—

that fisherman who couldn’t

write in Greek—

who left his father’s boat

and followed him.

 

ADVENT, 20

ADVENT

20.

 

We make what we need:

homo fabricator is what we are.

We need a mystery now and then,

a source of nourishment, a healer,

a promise of better things.

Who is outside and who is inside

with us, and how shall we know.

Who will make it clear?

O come, Emanuel,

Desire of Nations.

Be what we need now,

someone not of our making.

We are, all of us,

outside.

ADVENT, 19

ADVENT

 

19.

   ~John 14-17

 

Well, John Gospeller, we’ve come

at last to the core. We know

that we can see. We know

that we’re unbound.

And was it worth the trouble?

 

Because, because—-

The comforter comes—

to whom? 

What is asked in your name 

is given—

to whom?

Mansions in the Father’s house?

Well, hurrah.

And how many

are shut out?

But then, this is about

the inside, isn’t it?

About the closing door.

Not about the poor old world.

Not about the wedding feast.

Salvation from the world, yes?

Stand back and watch it fall.

 

Good cheer?

I don’t think so.

Let us, as your Jesus said 

(and then didn’t,

for three more chapters),

arise and go forth.

Salty salt.

Unshuttered light.

 

 

Maybe I’ll visit the passion and resurrection after Christmas. Maybe. . . 

ADVENT, 16

ADVENT

 

16.

   ~John 11

 

Why did he weep?

 

There is a calculation here:

Wait till the corpse stinks.

It is never too late

for the elect to be raised

if they are properly wrapped,

if they’ve waited in solitude and dark

long enough to know their fear,

if they have been properly mourned.

 

But why did you let him weep?

 

And that curious prophecy

from the high priest’s mouth—

he was blind, I suppose,

but speaking from second sight

and not of himself

but of God’s chosen children.

This I understand.

 

But why, John Gosepeller,

did you make your Jesus weep?

ADVENT, 15

ADVENT

 

15.

    ~John 10

 

One flock, O yes. 

(I’m trying.)

You must bring them in.

Yes.

They will hear your call.

They will know your voice.

And how will they know?

 

Lambs learn their mothers’ voices

while still curled in the womb.

Once I saw a ewe

close to giving birth,

talking softly to her lamb.

(I’m trying.)

My father’s sheep came

only to him.

Once upon a time,

I found this a comfort. 

 

But now, John Gospeller, 

now I see:

this gate swings 

on predestination’s hinges.

One more door

closed to the many,

open only to the elect.

(I tried.)