Posted by: Postordinandy | March 11, 2015

John 18 (pt 12)

How complicit am I in this repeated choice of freedom?

I take my place in the jostling crowd, and

Mesmerised by the sirens’ call to power,

The sickly smell of success or the

Tempting taste of rebellion,

Settle on the charismatic agitator who,

I blindly

(And somewhat lethargically)

Hope will,

Destroy the demons of oppression I see around me.

This man, rugged of body and mind,

A trouble-maker it is true, but surely?

The one who can drive the hated enemy into the wilderness,

And grant victory for God’s little people…

I barely notice the beaten and bowed shape of Him.

The Nazarene artisan and travelling magician.

The one who we had hailed as deliverer, liberator, Messiah…

(Only last week – so distant in memory now,

My hands still stained with the sap of palm leaves waved,

My ears ringing with the echoes of joyful songs of praise).

He talked a good talk, to be sure,

But this lamb held before the encircling eagles,

Offers us no hope in our immediate circumstance,

And so is abandoned to the shearers sword.

And history restarts the process of repetition with our choice.


 “…Do you want me to release ‘the king of the Jews’?” They shouted back, “No, not him! Give us Barabbas!”…” [John 18:39-40]

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