Zealots, eager to take St. Paul’s challenge;
Hunting down heretics,
And wolves in wool blazers,
Suspecting snakes in the baptistry.
Pharisees gobbling down Sunday dinner;
Dining on southern fried preacher
Smothered in peppered gravy,
Serving rhubarb pie a la goad.
Critical analysis, parsing the pastor;
The sermons are too long, too short,
His over-worn necktie
Becomes a hangman’s noose.
Churches filled with Inspectors Javert
Spiritual guard dogs unleashed
Smelling fear, tasting blood,
Unending hunger for dirt.
Where is grace? Where is God?
Where is trust and brotherly love?
Lost in the forest of suspicious minds
Dead is accusatory living.
1 Another time Jesus went into the synagogue, and a man with a shriveled hand was there. 2 Some of them were looking for a reason to accuse Jesus, so they watched him closely to see if he would heal him on the Sabbath. 3 Jesus said to the man with the shriveled hand, “Stand up in front of everyone.”
4 Then Jesus asked them, “Which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?” But they remained silent.
5 He looked around at them in anger and, deeply distressed at their stubborn hearts, said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” He stretched it out, and his hand was completely restored. 6 Then the Pharisees went out and began to plot with the Herodians how they might kill Jesus. Mark 3:1-6