Jesus came into the room of my suffering,
and he baked a loaf of bread.
I know it was him because he spat on his fingers
and wiped the spit into my eyes, and I could all the better,
for the life of me, see.
I know it was him because he brought with him
a prostitute to pray together with me.
I know it was him, because he also brought
the memory of the last time I saw my enemy,
and asked me a question.
And it’s always the same, first he rips open the bread
that smells so good, we tremble with anticipation.
We spread it thick with butter and then
we eat it with our fingers dripping fat.
I know it was Jesus who came into the room,
because he didn’t just leave me at the threshold of grieving,
he came right on in and took as long as it takes;
I know it was Jesus because he didn’t accuse me
of anything or everything I could do wrong,
and he took out his ukulele to play us a song
he wrote especially for the occasion.
And I know it was Jesus because he turned up the music
so loud, there was nothing that could stop
I know it was him, because he didn’t have a simple answer
for every one of my questions.
In fact, he invited the lady of the night and he invited me,
to place our hands into the gaping hole in the side of his body,
and he also opened up his hands and invited us
to touch the scars we found there.
I know it was Jesus because there was no performance appraisal,
or nit-picking at failure, or expectations of anything;
other than love.
Yes, he listened to my story until he wept with my tears,
and uncovered the laughter I’d kept buried for years.
I know it was Jesus because he reached into the wounds under the ribs of my soul
and he placed his hands on the wounds in my mind and he said,
“Blessed are those who do not see, and yet believe.”
Yes, I know it was Jesus because the woman who came from
a brothel to meet me, became my sister,
and Jesus took out a bowl and ended up washing our feet.
Yes I know it was Jesus, because he put fresh logs on the fire
and was not in a hurry to leave.
I know it was him, because he encountered the wound in us
and we can never be the same.
I know it was him, because there was no obligation
and our hearts bled praise.
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