a poem in my pocket

I am that beggar on the ancient road of cobbled stones in Jerusalem, begging alms in the city of the king, near David’s tomb. The Passover crowds pass by me on their way through the golden gate to the Temple mount, singing songs of ascent. I limp out of the chaotic throng, pressing my back against the stone wall and clutching my empty cup. What is that I hear? Shouts of “Hosanna, save us”! Now I see ecstatic children waving palm branches before a rabbi astride a young horse; no, he rides a humble donkey. As they pass, Jesus looks into my eyes; a gaze that overwhelms me with compassion.  I pick up a palm frond as the shofar sounds the call to worship: “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

crowds shout hosannas

rejoice in the coming king

my cup overflows

 

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