ascension

up Jesus up
rise before the knuckle-heads know what hit 'em

push them off into the frightening night
beyond the scenes of dark and death
into hungry towns of gin and dying

send them out while mem'ry eggs them
send them out into the world of our making
where hatred's  bold and violence real
where blood spills and lying's easy

as your feet dangle from the engulfing clouds
send them toward coffee shops brewing with snares
with tongues of fire as the Spirit seers

but don't look back cause you'll drop in shock
to see what's been done with the promise you've made:
our burgling the poor and coveting wealth
cloaking your dreams neath rivers of blood

but alive somewhere with the grace of suff'ring
some Elect pray down your merciful love
off'ring forgiveness and love as your kingdom-vision
somewhere tween fissures bisecting our minds



*The apostle of our time does not have the social prestige of earlier times; he is incapable of glorying in his role of crying victory, thereby arousing envy or hostility.  Living more deeply, he experiences his own unbelief so well that he is the brother of atheists and unbelievers, not just in intention and words - that is, in illusion. The Word of the Gospel and of the Church has become so much his own that he is a humble innkeeper who rejects no one, whom one feels the need to visit, whether to be quiet or to talk,  just as one visits a healer or guru - although he has nothing in common with a guru.  Lucid, cured of many hopes and fears, no more virtuous than anyone else, capable of solicitude and silence, without need of recognition, skilled in reading on someone's lips words other than those that were spoken, in gently uncovering the lie within sincerity, he's not afraid of enjoying himself, without which one can't give to anyone else.
-Jean Sulivan