Rendezvous

Haiku for an uprising

The unbroken colt

is brought, as per instructions.

Jesus mounts and rides.

Garments line the road.

The company of his friends

sing and shout praises.

The expectation

is great: The revolution

must be upon us!

Concerned for order,

Pharisees command silence.

The stones will cry out!

Weeps for the city.

Were you paying attention

you might have known peace!

Reaching the temple,

the traders are driven out.

God’s house is restored.

Not the uprising

some had hoped for. This conquest

will be won by love.

© Ken Rookes 2022

My Father's House

Angry haiku

It’s early in John,

the confrontation is there

from the beginning.

The powerful ones

who rule religion, are scared

of his freedom words.

In Jerusalem

the temple stands for order;

ancient traditions.

Through the temple’s gates

he strides, his angry vision

impels him to act.

Upsets ev’rything;

sheep, cattle, money changers.

This is not God’s house!

Show a sign, they say,

that proves your right to do this.

Will my body do?

Not yet a sign, but

one will be given: Three days,

then resurrection!

Come again, Jesus;

drive them out, those who pervert

your words with their lies.

They are many still

who choose power, not the cross;

or the costs of love.

© Ken Rookes 2021

Behaving recklessly

Haiku for the angry

In Jerusalem

people gather for the feast;

things are heating up.

The Passover nears

time to remember; recall

God’s saving actions.

As is his practice,

Jesus behaves recklessly,

upsets good order.

Goes to the temple,

where he observes the commerce

and money changing.

The man gets angry,

makes a whip from cords of rope,

drives the traders out.

Escaping doves soar,

as tables are overturned.

Coins spill to the floor.

Take them out of here;

these instruments of Mammon

do not lead to life.

Temple is a place

for drawing near, listening,

and worshipping God.

They ask him, What right

do you have to come in here

and to do these things?

Destroy this temple

and I’ll raise it in three days.

Another riddle.

© Ken Rookes 2018.

Getting away with it

Wandering around

on the fringes of respectability

and caring nothing for the good regard

of the religious establishment,

Jesus pulled a ‘Pussy Riot’ protest

in the sacred precincts of the temple.

He left behind a chaos of coins and cattle,

upturned tables,

and a whip of cords.

He seemed to have gotten away with it.

They didn’t arrest him,

or throw him, Baptist-like, into prison;

things eventually settled down.

The teacher got on with his unorthodox life,

roving the land in his capacity

as a no-fixed-address itinerant,

outrageously telling it like it was.

Those in authority,

the Chief Priests and the others,

played it cool.

They righted the tables,

rounded up the livestock,

and gathered together the discarded cords.

These they plaited into rope enough;

and waited for the moment.

The arrest, incarceration,

and much worse,

would come.

© Ken Rookes 2015.

Driving out

The bad religion dealers

are gathering their stock,

investing in security

and trusting key and lock.

The bad religion traders

conspire in desperation

they’re making plans to overcome,

correct the situation.

They know the Teacher’s coming

they’ve felt the voice and whip.

Their pleasant life is overturned;

he’s shooting from the hip.

The scattered coins lie gleaming

strewn rudely on the floor;

while safe assumption’s ripped away,

sweet comfort’s out the door.

Table legs point to the sky

the sheep, they are departing;

ignoring indignation’s cries,

the Teacher is just starting.

The bad religion brokers

are exiting the temple;

they’ve seen the walls, the fractured stones,

they disregard the people.

The Teacher sees the kingdom,

there’s love behind his rage;

he shouts life’s possibilities;

the dove has left its cage.

The bad religion vendors

dealing life diminished,

sad and anxious, cheerless, mean; their

fearful trade is finished

The walnut, it is cracked now,

the old religion’s broken;

barriers are thrown aside, the

roads to life are open.

© Ken Rookes 2012