Come to Me, a poem

When Jesus said to ‘come to me,’
he didn’t mean present a list of merits,
or achievements, or a chronicle of good things
done well, as though by them
we might commend ourselves to him
who is good beyond good.

No. Those bidding words were offered as a wine-
soaked sponge to those dying slowly on the cross
of self, where they go who seek to prove
themselves in the court of good opinion and
public morals, the theatre of the law.

To those alone, who say ‘kyrie eleison,’ does the
medicine of gospel grace do its work–moving
from palate to throat to heart
where it settles in, breaks down the walls
of calcified self-righteousness that hinders our
fully knowing the savior’s love–his fathomless
grace that unmakes sin till it is no more.

In bread and wine we drink this draught
of grace and in it find life anew–
deeper than we dared to dream.

Maundy Thursday 2016

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