sign of peace

peace sign

cold sign

un-feeling

shoving-away

sharp stabs

soft hugs

get goings

with push-aways

death proclamation

its chains embraced

and i would flee

it's killing me

from this i plead

its slaying dead

the Desired, not given

poison's in their head 

where's Jesus?

where's the Lord?

where the human touch?

where the warmth?

who bears the gift

in frame and name?

where and when

the peace we long?

*Reflections of Jean Sulivan:

  -I do not know.  No, I don 't know if Jesus is the son of God.  I'm completely ignorant of the meaning of those words.  My mental certainty is unimportant if my eyes, my gestures, my steps do not confirm it.  And if Jesus is risen, it is at this instant, in my relation to my neighbor - who is everyone, including my enemy.  Every faith which doesn't speak out against prejudice and the barriers of race and class is nothing but an ideological and sentimental luxury.

  -I am saying a very simple thing which is scandalous only for those who are blind.  If you possess faith as a mental object, if you're tense over it, disturbed, almost sick about it, if you have "problems" with it, then lose it and and lose yourself.  Perhaps faith will then be able to find you and take hold of you.  If there was one thing in my limited experience that was electrifying, it was this: Several of the people who first impressed me became rigid in what they called  their "faith."  It became a neurotic attachment to a system, a culture, a past, or a certain idea of the future

  -No one can ever express the totality of faith.

  -Those who write for sheep are bad disciples.  I'd be ashamed  to keep quite.  I'll arrive at the gates of paradise with my rejections and my doubts and will cry out with the leper, "I believe in you, Jesus of Nazareth."