On pungent breath of domestic beasts
in one of Bethlehem’s stable caves
it began as barely audible whisper:
jerusalem... jerusalem... jerusalem...
Perhaps Joseph missed it altogether
so focused and concerned
lost in dreams, contemplating exodus to Egypt
protecting Madonna and manger-born-one.
Mary may have heard it once
above the quiet beat of a tiny heart
underneath the measured breath of contentment:
jerusalem... jerusalem... jerusalem...
As the boy grew in wisdom and stature
mother pondering deep in her heart
wind’s whisper increased its volume:
Jerusalem... Jerusalem... Jerusalem...
Bar-mitzvahed one felt pulled
Temple conversations deepened
time, family separated from perspective
magnetic force of Spirit drew tightly.
Adolescence and adulthood produced
power, healing, compassion for all
yet through each miracle, rhythm intensified:
Jerusalem... Jerusalem... Jerusalem...
John and Jordan called for baptism
outward sign of inward grace
symbolic cleansing, dove descending,
voice of loving pleasure, call to listen.
Clash with power, authority, control
unconventional freedom threatens entrenchment
Temple cleansing, wrath descending
percussive call’s incessant pounding.
Upper room, Passover celebration
transcended: “This is my body...”
Betrayal’s whisper echoes loudly:
“Is it I?”... “Is it I?”... “Is it I?”...
Quiet prayer, garden evening
tears of blood pound the earth
ever-increasing eardrum’s rattle:
JERUSALEM... JERUSALEM... JERUSALEM...
Sacrifice stretched, pounded into place
ultimate human fear unleashed
Golgotha, pinnacle of power and domination
agony, abandonment drown out the call.
Bethlehem’s cave of promise and hope
eroded into death’s dead end
Jerusalem’s cave, a silent shroud.
Does even the wind’s whisper remain?
