Slander fills the air waves,
democracy grows cold
and the earth shudders.
When this winter of civility is upon us
—can compassion yet grow in the hard soil of privilege?
—can earth’s people learn nurture the whole?
Deaf to Jesus’ sermon—
the Preachers of today shun the imprisoned;
the Chosen turn away the fugitive and denounce the stranger in the land;
the Ministers of No-science would again deny cosmos
and burn Bruno at the stake.
(But notice: this very day
some do suffer the little ones to come,
some do bless the poor and visit those in prison,
and some do brave the road of science.)
The God of two millennia,
his mind numbed by social media chants,
has reached his senility.
His Revelation has become the Beast of My Family, My Color, My Creed.
Hear the beast’s dull roar as it flails in anger
at the free thinker,
the lover of the earth,
the seer of the whole.
Could this be?
Is the Beast growing weak?
Do its muscles ache from dragging the corpses of dogmas past?
Yet, we see its trail of devastation;
we see earth boil with storms;
we see the coral grow pale and the glaciers liquefy;
we see the mounting firestorm of blame.
The stake holders, the hold outs,
the yesterday thinkers do not see.
But we see,
and in seeing we are anointed.
Our work awaits—
Early let us sow knowledge for its germination.
Early let us tend earth’s fragile flesh.
Early let us reach out to the shunned, the tortured and the homeless.
The world grows cold with loss—
it is time for the warming work of spring.