Nearing the finish

Haiku of goodbye

Nearing the finish

Jesus dines at Bethany

with his dearest friends.

They make him welcome;

Martha, Lazarus, Mary.

A fellowship meal.

A pound of pure nard,

costly perfume; Mary spills

it over his feet.

Fragrance fills the air.

Mary touches feet with love,

wipes them with her hair.

There are objections.

This perfume could have been sold;

money for the poor!

Jesus agrees, It

could have been sold for the poor;

but it’s not wasted.

A gift for my death,

my burial. It comes soon;

do not chastise her.

The poor will remain

to test your loving. But I

won’t always be here.

© Ken Rookes

The man had two sons

Haiku of disturbing grace.

The man had two sons.

The second came, uncaring;

I need my share now.

The son went abroad

to ply his profligate plan:

wine, women and song.

The money is gone,

the so-called friends disappear,

poverty beckons.

Heading for his home,

what will he say? Sorry Dad,

don’t call me your son.

His father rejoiced,

My son was dead, Now he lives!

Come, it’s party-time !

The older brother

is unimpressed, refusing

the celebrations.

When such grace abounds

we who are worthy must choose:

judge, or celebrate?

Will the fatted calf

provide feasting for us all,

or just the sinful?

© Ken Rookes 2022

One more year

 

Haiku of grace

We who are righteous;

God will never punish us.

He has no need to!

When bad stuff happens

we like to blame the victims:

Must be their own fault.

Good people prosper,

bad people are punished. No!

That’s not how it works.

You must all repent

turn from your self-centred ways.

Then you’ll truly live.

Trees that won’t bear fruit:

fig, olive, apple; not worth

space in the garden.

For three years I came

looking for the promised fruit,

but none! Cut it down!

The gardener speaks:

One more year of special care,

let’s see what it does.

One more year. What grace

is shown to those unworthy;

what grace shown to me!

© Ken Rookes 2022

Yet they will not come

Haiku of lament

Herod is a fox,

threatened by Jesus, makes plans

to be rid of him.

They try to warn him.

Jerusalem is not safe!

The man is reckless.

Love’s work must go on;

to bring healing, freedom, hope.

I must finish it.

Jerusalem calls.

It is the killing place, where

prophets meet their end.

O Jerusalem,

city of sadness and death,

how tragic you are!

Your children are lost;

unprotected chicks. I would

gather them to me.

My heart is aching

to embrace and protect them;

yet they will not come.

© Ken Rookes 2022