In the juvescence of the year Came Christ the tiger (T.S. Eliot, “Gerontion”) Still He bursts into our courts Where our Pharisee-hearts change coins for doves And the tables we man to show who’s in charge Are upturned by His rage. Still He comes with sword to divide Soul from marrow and father from son, Our many-tufted prickling weeds From among the wheat. Still He comes with light, with flame, The ex-nihilo energy of singular force, Moses’ bush-consuming-fire, The fiery-bright I Am. Still He comes to shake, to heal, To wash in the waters of forty-day-flood, To call frail Lazarus out of his tomb And shake the rich man’s knees. Still He comes like lamb, like lion, A thief in the forests of the night, An unblemished, bleeding sacrifice – Mighty, grace in His mane.