Defiled hearts

Haiku of true worship

The Pharisees frown;

Jesus, your friends are eating

with their defiled hands.

Cleanliness requires

much washing, of hands and food;

also cups and pots.

They put much stock in

being ritually clean.

Jesus laughs at them.

Rules are worth nothing.

It’s what you do, what you say,

that matters to God.

Don’t try to honour

God with your lips if you won’t

do so with your hearts.

Take note, you leaders:

evil words and loveless deeds

render you unclean.

Human traditions

are rubbish, worship too; if

you’re ignoring God.

There’s only one law

that you need to keep; that you

love. The rest is dross.

© Ken Rookes 2021

Difficult teaching

Haiku for the troubled

Come, eat my flesh! The

literally-minded folk

take extreme offence.

What is his meaning,

this claim to be bread for all;

the bread who gives life?

The words that I speak

brings life to your spirit; yet

not all will believe.

Even disciples

are troubled. This difficult

teaching troubles them.

Some of them decamped.

He asks the twelve, Do you wish

to turn back also?

Simon Peter speaks:

To whom can we go? Your words

alone lead to life.

We have known you, Lord;

We see your words are true, that

you are sent from God.

© Ken Rookes 2021

Life for the whole world

 

Haiku for disputation

I am bread that lives

and gives life to the whole world;

life that comes from God.

He offends them, this

Johannine Jesus; speaking

of his flesh and blood.

Only Eucharist

can make sense of these sayings.

That, and his dying.

True food, and true drink,

my very self in flesh, blood;

I am here for you.

Eat of me; take me

deeply inside you, find me

in all your living

Take me deep within;

my body, blood, and my words.

You shall truly live.

You, who are my friends,

I live in you, you in me;

multiplying life.

© Ken Rookes 2021

Difficult words

Haiku of offence.

Eating and drinking,

taking my life deep within;

they abide in me,

They will always live,

nor will their deeds be forgot,

alive in God’s heart.

Difficult teachings,

who can accept them? Even

disciples struggle.

From the spirit comes

true life; the flesh is useless.

Believe in my words.

Many disciples

turned back. His words were too hard,

the way was too tough.

He questioned the twelve:

Do you also wish to leave,

is it all too hard?

Where else can we go?

said Peter. Your words are life;

you have come from God.

© Ken Rookes 2018

Living bread

Haiku of eternal life

I am living bread,

Jesus says in John’s gospel.
Eat, live for ever.

The leaders dispute.

How can this man give his flesh

that people might eat?

I tell you truly,

Jesus says, Life is in me,

take me deep within.

In these words we find

eucharistic overtones:

Come to the table.

My flesh is true food,

and my blood is true drink: Take,

eat, and drink of me.

Who partake of me,

live in me; and I abide

in them. We are one.

The Father sent me.

The life I have is from God;

I share it with you.

The bread from heaven

gives life that is fair dinkum.

Come to me and eat.

© Ken Rookes 2018

The bread of life

Haiku for those who need to be fed

The Johanine Christ

calls himself the bread of life;

much consternation.

Is this not Jesus,

the son of the carpenter?

Claims to come from God!

The Father sent me,

and he draws many to me;

I will raise them up.

Learn from the Father

and come to me. I’ll show you

how to truly live.

Your ancestors ate

wilderness bread from above;

death still embraced them.

I am living bread.

Eat of me, receive my life;

you need never die.

Heaven’s living bread,

bread that gives life to the world:

this bread is my flesh.

© Ken Rookes 2018

Difficult Words Haiku

Eat my flesh, he says,

as if it’s a normal thing;

this deep mystery.

Living forever;

the reward for believers.

Is there something more?

The spirit makes life,

he told those who would listen.

The flesh, conversely.

His difficult words

drove many away. Not me;

there is no other.

The fisherman spoke

for us all. Your words are life:

where else can we go?

© Ken Rookes 2015

I am the bread of life

 

We take these words

and fashion them into a ritual.
A ritual meal of great beauty,
layered and filled with meaning
and mystery; which is almost certainly
what the writer had in mind.
Flesh is made bread.
 
The wheat is ground,
mixed, kneaded,
and baked in an oven. It emerges,
crusty and smelling of friendship.
So we tear the loaves in two,
break off pieces,
and share them.
 
And somehow, in this bread
and in the wine that accompanies it,
we take into the essence of our selves
the words the Teacher spoke,
the compassion, grace, and love he enacted.
Along with the power of his giving,
his sacrifice.
 
And somehow,
in this invitation to gather
at his table,
we are also invited to see with his eyes
and to behold the kingdom;
a world that may yet be transformed
by justice, hope and peace.
 
Somehow.
And in these fragments,
small, humble, broken,
we receive this man;
not to mention
his outrage
and his tears.
 

 

© Ken Rookes 2015

But among you are some who do not believe

He was being kind.

Even among those who so eagerly sing

his songs, wear

his shining silver jewellery, don

his tee-shirts, and who grumble

self-righteously that the fabric of society

has been irreparably torn;

there are many of us

who will not allow ourselves to believe.

We do not eat the body;

the blood we do not drink.

The precisely cubed crumb of bread,

the broken wafer,

the fragment torn from a loaf;

the silver chalice,

the cup of wine,

the tiny glass of grape juice,

hygienically prepared, red and sweet;

these safe things we will consume

in neat and reassuring patterns.

We fear the bread that is his words,

irregular, wild and costly;

having nibbled at the edge

we shall leave it our plates.

The cup of his outpouring;

we sipped cautiously, tasted its bitter draught

and determinedly placed it to one side.

His difficult words invite us to dine upon him,

to take life deep within our own;

and allow his being to be woven into ours.

Thus we receive his generous life,

crimson with sorrow, love and weeping.

Take courage; eat and drink, he whispers

once more.

© Ken Rookes 2012