When you are thirsty

Haiku for parched souls

When you are thirsty

and someone gives you water,

you take it gladly.

A surprise meeting;

the Samaritan woman

and the Jewish man.

The well: this image

of life splashed with hope, purpose,

and filled with spirit.

Life, not limited

by all the negative stuff;

full and unconstrained.

Drink this life, woman,

man, child; all of you who yearn

for truth and fullness.

The hour is coming

for all the true worshippers

to reveal themselves.

What will be the sign,

how will we recognise them?

One thing; by their love.

I know that he comes,

the Messiah sent from God.

He is with you now.

Go, tell the city,

don’t keep this news to yourself;

others also thirst.

© Ken Rookes 2020

On the edges

Haiku of inclusion

On the edges of

Samaria, Galilee,

where nobody goes.

North of Jerus’lem

Jesus meets with outcast men,

unclean, unwanted.

Ten lepers approached.

Keeping their distance they cried,

Have mercy, Master!

Go and show yourselves,

to the priests; they will confirm

that you are made clean.

As they make their way

their skin becomes clean and new.

One man turns around.

The Samaritan

falls rejoicing at his feet.

Jesus, I thank you.

Were not ten made clean?

One, alone, comes praising God;

a Samaritan!

Another surprise;

the foreigner commended

as a man of faith.

© Ken Rookes 2019

With time running out

Haiku for decisions

With time running out

Jesus knew that he must go

to Jerusalem.

The company came

to a Samaritan town,

but they were rebuffed.

Why Jerusalem?

If you’re only passing through

don’t bother to stay.

We should punish them;

call down fire! said James and John.

Jesus rebuked them.

I will follow you,

a man said. Foxes have holes,

but I am homeless.

I will follow you,

a man said, but I must wait

for father to die.

The dead must bury

their own. Leave them, you must go

proclaim God’s kingdom.

I will follow you,

but first I must say farewell

to my family.

To plough a straight line

you cannot keep looking back;

likewise the kingdom.

© Ken Rookes 2019

At Jacob's Well

Haiku for an opening dialogue

Did Jesus say Please,

when he asked her for a drink?

Let's assume he did.

Having slaked his thirst,

he smiled, offered the woman

water that's lasting.

She could play his game,

this Samaritan woman:

You need a bucket!

Not for this water;

You will never thirst again!

Yes, that would be cool.

Go get your husband.

Haven't got one, she replied.

Mostly true, he said.

They talk religion,

where best to worship God.

Your church, or mine?

He's coming, she said,

the Messiah, called the Christ.

You're talking to him.

Epilogue.

Much excitement!

A prophet, perhaps the Christ;

come see for yourselves!

© Ken Rookes 2017

Were not ten made clean?

Haiku of gratitude and surprise.

Ah, my friend, Jesus,

you travel to strange places,

sharing hope and love.

In the borderland

ten lepers cry to Jesus:

Have mercy on us!

Cleansing the lepers,

making real the reign of God,

revealing God's truth.

Just this foreigner.

The other nine, where are they?

Were not ten made clean?

Foreigners surprise

when they have more faith than us.

How embarrassing.

A Samaritan

is made the hero once more.

Another strange choice.

© Ken Rookes 2016

At Sychar

 

At Sychar the ancient well,
said to have been dug by Jacob himself,
continues its unfailing work;
storing the generosity of the even older spring
in its cool, dark pool.
Deep below the sun-bleached rocks,
it holds enough water
to deliver its aqueous life
to inhabitants of the Samaritan village,
and to all who come looking;
provided they have a bucket
and sufficient length of rope.
Lacking such basics,
the travelling man from the north,
thirsty from his journey,
makes his famous request
of a woman who came to fill her empty jar.
A spirited conversation bubbles up.
From earnest banter it spills out
into life’s exponential invitation;
to fashion a bucket,
to twist a rope,
and to delve deeply within.

© Ken Rookes 2014

turned back, praising

 

My skin connects me to the world,
its creases and lines are my interface
with everything and everyone else.
When people look upon me it is my skin,
framing my eyes and giving form to my soul,
that they see.
When I greet friends,
and our hands clasp
and our lips and cheeks touch,
it is my skin, and their’s,
that momentarily join.
When I embrace, and make love,
it is my skin, damp and flushed,
that unites me with my lover.

My skin betrayed me;
it turned leprous.
I became frightful,
a disfigured object of separation;
even children, normally curious and accepting,
were instructed to run away.
No-one would look upon my face,
there was none to touch or caress;
my pain was made complete in my despair.
Nor was there anyone to greet me,
save my equally reluctant comrades in disconnection.

We lived in places in between,
where people passed through
out of need, not choice.
Thus the Teacher came by one day;
we shouted from a distance, not daring to approach.
Showing the requested mercy,
he spoke his words of generous healing,
restoring skin and life,
and releasing great joy.

© Ken Rookes