Sit down won’t you Michael,

You must be so tired after your long travels.

I’ll make a cup of tea,

Lovely to see you.

 

The welcome was eternal,

Particularly for family,

The living room wallpapered with images of children,

And grandchildren,

Who ran through her mind and veins,

Like grace from God.

 

Now, your sandwiches are ready,

On the plate which will never need replenishment,

For all your service to those who loved you is now rewarded,

As you take the comfy seat at last.

 

And see the face of God.

 

The internal noisemaker is off again,

Me, full of the message of forgiveness,

And understanding cannot deal with the challenge,

As yet another comment turns to gossip,

Then undermining, and finally mean-spirited bullying.

 

How, dear God, can I respond?

For I am called to kick the sellers out of the temple,

Dust of my sandals,

And go to a town where I will be heard.

 

Yet, to do so will be cowardice, and will fail to do Your will.

 

Intention, an oft used spear,

Shaft forged of the soul,

Tipped with the sharpness of the mind.

Designed to slice, then penetrate as deeply as thrown,

Into the heart of the victim, lover or bystander.

 

The intention, dipped either in love potion or invective poison,

Enters the heart of God and the intended.

Serving the masters of temptation with a banquet of delight,

Or the glory of innocent humility, encased in love.

 

It is for us to choose.