Birds of the air have nests

Let me be a bird of the air

embracing the freedom of flight,

with a nest to come home to at night.

Let me be a fox of the fields

ranging the bush and the hills,

with a sheltering hole from night's chills.

A lizard among grass and stones,

I would rest, contemplating the sun,

and retreat to my rock when day's done.

The Son of Man, we are told,

had no place to lay his kind head;

at least not until he was dead.

I would be called a disciple;

let love guide my feet as I roam

dusty paths toward my true home.

© Ken Rookes 2016

Nowhere

Nowhere

And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”   Luke 9:58

 

According to the gospels of Matthew and Mark,
Jesus did have a home, in Capernaum.
I wonder who looked after it while he walked
his itinerant road for those three years;
did he put it on the market
or was he only renting? Perhaps,
for a time, the Son of Man did have a place
to lay his head.
Most nights I am at home
and I lay mine upon my familiar pillow
with gratitude. The eleventh residence
since we began our married life
is also our own. My itinerancy
requires a large removalist’s truck,
being no match for that of my Lord;
and my discipleship seems to be bordered
by my need for modest comfort
and a future with at least a degree of certainty.
In the face of all this, I stubbornly assert
my claim to be a disciple,
a sometime servant of truth,
a stumbling sharer of gospel hope,
a learner striving towards the Kingdom;
following one who had no place to lay his head,
and hoping to prove fruitful.
 

© Ken Rookes