Monday

They arrived at Jerusalem. Immediately

on entering the Temple Jesus started
throwing everyone out who had set up
shop there, buying and selling. He kicked
over the tables of the bankers and the
stalls of the pigeon merchants. He didn’t
let anyone even carry a basket through the
Temple. And then he taught them, quoting
this texMy house was designated a house of
prayer for the nations;
you’ve turned it into a hangout for
thieves.
The high priests and religion scholars
heard what was going on and plotted how
they might get rid of him. They panicked,
for the entire crowd was carried away by
his teaching.

After the coins

there was silence,
so full you could hear the heavy breathing
of the saviour,
hunched on the spot,
looking round him like some madman
daring anyone to break the moment.
It was heaven’s moment,
and he knew it,
and they knew it,
and I knew it.
O my Lord,
you’ve fed the hungry—I’ve seen you—
and I saw heaven in that,
you’ve picked up the sick child—I saw you
do it—and I saw heaven at work,
you’ve spoken to me when no one else
would—I heard you—
and I heard heaven’s voice,
but this,
this is new to me!
Heaven has come into it’s own:
it’s a dangerous, wild thing,
a mad man,
a loose canon,
a Che Guevara,

Lord, do you know

you are shutting down the temple,
pulling the ground from under the system?
Do you know whose interests you are
playing with here?
The Lord of Life
has raged against injustice
in the very place justice should be born,
and I’ve seen it
and heard the coins roll
heaven is coming into it’s own.