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
true." |
