Fig tree fruits

If you repent,
the much-loved doctrine declares,
you will be forgiven.
A simple-enough transaction,
with the reception of forgiveness transmuted,
by divine alchemy, into the golden currency
of paradisiacal admittance.

With much tears and wailing, repentance is enacted,
souls are pronounced saved,
and heaven’s host, we are told, prepares another room.

But what if repentance is no mere turning point,
arrived at once and finally?
What if it is an attitude that grows, develops,
and manifests itself in actions;
many and uncounted, small and large;
with an impetus towards sharing and justice
and generosity and peace?
And what if the second chance grace
is all about such fruitfulness?

Fig tree fruits from plants worth their place
in the garden.

© Ken Rookes 2013

Who warned you . . .?

It is possible to go through the motions

with baptism. Like getting overwhelmed

by a raft or unresolved feelings

at an evangelistic rally, (remember them?)

and joining the throng of decision makers

at the front “where a trained counsellor

will come and talk with you.”

It seemed real enough at the time.

Perhaps it was. The Baptiser named John

knew how easy it was, in the drama

of the moment, to make the short journey

down the aisle to that pregnant space

in front of the stage.

Depending only upon the prophet’s power of

persuasion, John never had recourse

to the massed choir softly singing multiple verses

of “Just as I am, without one plea. . .”

At his riverside rallies, the Baptiser

certainly had his share of people

for whom the word “repent”

was suitably vague and imprecise.

Some of the religious leaders, we are told,

were also transported by the moment

and came down the front to sign their decision cards

and to be baptised. There they were met with

the less-than-welcoming epithet, “brood of vipers,”

and a call to a true turnaround.

They were told that their impulse must be genuine,

and that their apparent change of heart

must be evidenced in the real and tangible fruits

of lives transformed by God’s Spirit.

Otherwise, said the prophet, it’s a waste of water,

and no guarantee at all

that the wrath to come will be averted.

© 2010 Ken Rookes

The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.

The harvest is past,

the summer is ended,

and we are not saved.

Jeremiah 8:20

The season for salvation

came and apparently passed

with no-one noticing.

We were distracted, captivated

by the wonder and glory

of the collective reflections

in our gazing pool. There is darkness

all around; still it does not bother us

whilst there is even the palest light,

flickering yet sufficient to see our own

beautiful but blinkered eyes.

There was, supposedly, a season

for repentance, too;

but for that to have been effective

there needed to be an acknowledgement

of darkness’s reality,

and we would rather not know.

Anxiously feigning bravado,

we gather in our harvest

and boast about its yield,

blissfully unaware of its bitter nature.

The summer has ended,

and our time of harvest moves

inexorably to a Narnian winter,

wherein we will whisper the rumours

of Gilead’s springtime promise

with yearning, tears

and lamentation.

© 2010 Ken Rookes