Look, the son comes;
the farmers steam at the sight.
The vineyard is theirs! He has no place.
Stone the son; kill the heir.
The vineyard is red with blood.
Look, the Son comes;
the farmers quake at the sight.
Rejected, now the cornerstone:
the vineyard’s his. He takes His place.
The blood-red Son ascends.
The blind, the lame, are let inside;
the cursed now are blessed.
The king in triumph rides upon
a humble donkey’s colt.
The temple tables overturned,
the mind thrown into chaos,
prophecies are rendered true
in ways that chill our hearts.
The unexpected king burns bright
with anger at the sham.
He knows the depths of truest Law
and dies to see it kept.
And what is this that we now hear?
The workers who arrived too late –
the lazy, the beggars, the weak, the lame –
have won the Master’s favour and
have earned equal pay.
What is this that he proclaims,
this carpenter with hands of dust?
The children step aside while dogs
who surely are not fit for crumbs
have places at the feast.
The first are last, the last are first;
grumbles sound in stony hearts.
But broken hearts which yawn and weep
abound in joy, and even stone
can soon be rolled away.
Where is the strong man?
He writhes about as though he had power
but he himself knows he is bound.
What is this power?
It stands before the divided heart,
compelling with its tenacious purity.
Where is the good fruit?
Trees fein their own flourishing,
yet the truth will cast out the rotten.
Who is this healer?
If by the spirit of God he casts out the foul,
then the kingdom stands, flesh-clad, before you.
there are villages sick
with demons and dust:
cast out the demons, shake
the dust from your feet. Speak
the powerful truth:
The kingdom is here! You
are the hands and feet of this
how the hands and feet
will be pierced.