We Are Beggars

From the dead man's pocket
     on a scrap of paper scrawled
A brief message for the ages:
     "We are beggars. This is true."¹

In truth, we are beggars all.
     Like poor blind Bartimaeus,
In darkness we sit waiting
     for even the least of crumbs.

With our eyes wide open
     we sit on our calloused rass,
Knowing not to cry mercy
     or even eye contact to avoid.

Until the holy light shines
     we know not we are hungry,
We see not our soiled rags,
     nor our filthy upturned hands.

Suddenly, our sores appear
     we feel such hunger in our gut,
And the rich man's table is
     more than just out of reach.

We cry out: "If only the crumbs,"
     groveling with our face cast down,
And as the rich man’s dogs
     eagerly lick our scabby head,

A hand reaches from the table,
     and takes my hand in its firm grasp,
And lifts me up to an empty seat,
     to a table of a sumptuous feast.

Before I eat, not the rich man,
     but the master of the great house,
Holds out royal robes to wear:
     "These are my son's, now eat."

Mark 10:46-52
Luke 16:19-31
Philippians 4:19

¹Legend has it that a piece of paper was
found in Martin Luther's pocket after his
death. It read: "We are beggars. This is

by J Alan R
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