This Is What It Means [a poem]

Inspired by Jeremiah 22:13-17; Isaiah 1:1-20; 58:1-14; Amos 5:21-24; Matthew 25:31-46.

Don’t palm me off with your civil religion
and your politely murmured prayers,
don’t hand me your filthy mammon
or your barns of laundered cash.
Don’t flatter me with your pious words
catechisms so crisp and clean.
I hate your victory chants
in praise of what I’m not:
your oh so personal idol,
middle class and mute.

But I am not silent
to those with ears to hear:
I weep, I groan, I scream,
and I am so weary
of your all too clever words
your rituals and rhymes;
your meaningless slick tokens
of power-point and song.

So once more I’m going to tell you
(if you really want to hear),
now this is what it means
now this is what it means
to know me:
Go love the Hungry One
with whom you must share your bread,
go welcome in The Stranger
who soils your silken bed,
go sit still beside the Tortured One
and hear his anguished cries,
go bathe the disfigured, Wretched One
caress His weeping skin,
bear up the abused, Abandoned One
bent beneath Her grief,
raise up the Fatherless One
eating scraps from beneath your feet,

for this is what it means
for this is what it means
to know me.

Look!
to those with eyes to see
I hide my face, buried broken
in the bodies of the least,
and offer you the grace
to heal the suffering of your King,
for this is what it means
this is what it means
this is what it means
to know me.

by Kristin Jack, who lived with his family for 17 years in Cambodia. From his book Poetry and Prophecy