Saturday, November 17, 2012

Memorial of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, religious


Lectionary: 496



MSF Picnic
2012
The Lord said, "Pay attention to what the dishonest judge says.
Will not God then secure the rights of his chosen ones
who call out to him day and night?
Will he be slow to answer them?

Jesus and the Syro-Phoenician Woman

Come gather round, and please sit down, I'll tell you a Jesus story!
It's grandiose; if you listen close, you'll know the road to glory.
It'll make you wonder, perhaps you'll ponder mysterious ways of grace;
You'll see more clear, and love more dear, the kindness of God's face.
 
He worked all day as he led the way, his disciples trailed along;
He'd sometimes sit, but he never quit, on his lips he carried a song.
At last one morn, he said, "Guys, I'm worn; for awhile let's change the pace."
So off they went, by the Spirit sent, to find a quiet place.
He left that land under God's command for the region of Sidon and Tyre,
He wanted to rest, take a break from his quest, to refuel, rekindle his fire.
But they met an old hag, a dreary old nag, who chased them down the road;
She begged him "Please, won't you hear my pleas, for I carry a weary load.
My daughter is sick, it's a terrible trick, and for me a bitter pill.
Your Jesus’ Name is for all the same, please help me if you will,
I need that girl, she's the fairest pearl in the world; she's all I've got.
If she dies on me, oh, can't you see, I'll be in a terrible spot.
You have to heed, in my heart I bleed, I will not be deterred;
Show why your name has won such fame, just come and say the word.
My girl's possessed, she won't get dressed, she can't even say her name...."
But the Lord he walked and would not halt; he ignored the tiresome dame.
He said, "Gentile fools, they smell like mules; I don't have time for them.
To Judah I'm sent, for glory I'm bent, my grace is a priceless gem."
His disciples murmured "This woman's a bummer, of her we should be rid."
And Jesus replied, "We'll have to hide from the nanny and her kid."
They ran ahead to a weathered shed, and then they stepped inside.
And Jesus said, "In this homestead is where we can abide,
A secret den for special men, our own exclusive club,
And we'll not suffer no female lover of old Beelzebub.
But she came right in, their heads did spin, she scorned their rights and wrong,
With "Jesus' name is always the same. I'll not quit singing that song."
She bent down low as her face would go, and she clasped him by the knee.
The men were shocked as her arms she locked and he cried, "Please set me free!
I will not go, nor stoop so low to throw my pearls to hogs;
God won't forgive if I should give the food of kids to dogs."
"It's true my Lord, I hear your word," the hag maintained her cause,
"But the dogs still eat what the kids won't eat when to the floor it falls!"
Then The Man was stumped, to his feet he jumped, when he heard that woman's mot,
And he laughed out loud, and he whooped and howled, and his ruddy face did glow,
"Woman, I'm smote with a rueful note, your faith is plain to see;
You're sure not shy and that is why your girl's now sane and free."
So the woman went back, no faith she lacked, and found the girl just fine,
While Jesus sought and deeply thought to comprehend this sign.
 
Then he told this joke of the vicious bloke, a mean and venomous judge
Who did not care for God or prayer, who bragged he would not budge.
But a woman came, she caused him shame, harassed him night and day,
He was so distressed as her case she pressed that at last he did give way.
Then Jesus laughed at his unkind gaffe, on himself he told this jest,
For even the Lord, the Incarnate Word, isn't always at his best.
 
So remember this tale whenever you wail and your face is wearing a frown,
For Jesus' name is always the same, and him you can wear down.
He was born a Jew with a limited view, a child of Galilee,
As a boy he thought what his neighbors taught, he saw what they could see;
He was sometimes slow, 'cause he had to grow, but he learned at a faster pace;
He was sometimes blind but he did not mind when they stood up to his face.
His heart was good, not made of wood, then sorrow cleared his eyes;
He suffered blows from dreadful foes, but them he'd not despise.
He drank the dregs, pain buckled his legs, it taught him how to care
For all the earth and each one's worth; our sadness he did share.
He's not mischievous so call on Jesus; he'll give you strength reborn.
He was given power in his final hour for those who are forlorn;
He knows your needs; your woe he heeds when you that name beseech;
So go out now, I’ve shown you how, cure one and all and each.
 Fr Ken Bartsch, with apologies to poets everywhere. 

1 comment:

  1. This little writing exercise of yours has been in the back of my brain all day. It is humorous, yet serious. I find myself drawn more to a "divine Jesus"; this homily makes me think of a more "human Jesus". That's not a bad thing; I just wasn't expecting it.

    ReplyDelete

I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.

Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.

I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.

You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.