Call and Respond – Or Not.

The lilies of the field, how handsomely clothed! Yet, they toil not.
Should you do more?
A sparrow falls to the ground! I see it’s limp, lifeless form.
Why, then, do you cry?
A woman’s essence drains and drips. I plug the hole.
And yet, you scorn whom I heal?
I call into the caucusing storm: Feed my people!
And you respond: Let us go!
A withered hand reaches, trembling. I re-form its broken shape.
You decry the miracle in your eyes.
Two fear-full, fear-filled men threaten safe passage. I cast the demons out. You send me away.
Thousands gather in hope and hunger. From a loaf and few fishes, all are fed. And still, you doubt.
I call into the caucusing storm: Feed my people!
And you respond: Let us go!
Outcast beggars stumble in sightless dark. I bring light to the world.
You close your eyes to vision.
Caverns of silent stone hold captive  tongues. I make them  hear and speak. You turn away.
Unfruited fig tree withers in shame. I curse it in your stead.
You can, too, but fail to understand.
I call into the caucusing storm: Feed my people!
And you respond: Let us go!
A grieving widow’s tears land softly on the bier. I call her son to rise.
You feel no fear.
A desolate father pleads for his daughter. I bade her waken, open eyes.
You recoil in gleeful laughter.
The priest shrieks in pain. From dripping blade, I return his ear. Enough, I say! Listen, hear my words.
I have called over time into the caucusing storm: Feed my people!
And still you respond: Let us go!

 

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