In Medias Res
by Paul Hooker
Palm Sunday, 2015
You who enter the city in the midst of things,
come to find a place to love and die,
though we are busy keeping feasts, keeping kosher
keeping our heads down, keeping a low profile
ducked behind stone walls of practiced custom
where no hope or change or grace can reach us.
You who come to upset our assumptions
take away the illusion that we are the center of things
that we can cushion the stumbling stones in our paths
with pretentious fronds and conceited cloaks
though we cry Save us, Save us
without acknowledging that we need saving.
You who come to tear down temples
overturn the tables of our sacred things
scatter the coinage of our sacerdotal commerce
release the doves we sacrifice to self deception
though we apprehend you without understanding
and install you in the harsher sanctuary of our stony hill.
You who dwell in the midst of things:
for a moment, for an instant, for a heartbeat
slow the processional of things
still the noise of things
until we hear the one thing whispered
in the silence of the stones.