Outcasts
The outcast barges in,
unclaimed, unwanted, resented, alone.
Clouds of disapproval.
Whispers. Insults. Shouts.
Her breaking heart pays no attention.
She hurls herself at Jesus' feet.
"Help, Lord. Mercy!
Whatever I have done,
let vengeance fall on me,
but spare my daughter.
She's just a child --
her whole life ahead --
I did not nurture her to be
a tabernacle for demons."
Jesus looks down from infinite distance.
His words are harsh,
but his eyes tell a different story.
"I am here for the Chosen.
I cannot give the children's bread to dogs."
Murmurs of approval.
She gasps, then withers.
"Then give me the dregs, the leavings,
what they refuse.
Look around -- not all are eager.
Some eat the bread of life,
but others spit it out.
If I am a dog,
let me lick at crumbs under the table."
Jesus smiles.
"A faithful dog
loves more than a treacherous child.
Your faith will be rewarded.
Go! Your daughter is well."
Dismissed, she backs away,
then turns towards the door.
Hard stares follow her.
No one wishes her luck.
On the street,
her feet move faster and faster,
breath gasping, heart pounding,
mind roiling doubt and hope.
Her home seems quiet,
ordinary,
no place for a miracle.
Her daugher is asleep.
Gently, fearfully,
the outcast touches her child's shoulder.
The girl awakens, stretches, and smiles.
Her eyes are clear.
"Mother!
I had such a wonderful dream.
God held me in his arms
and told me I am his."
Torrents of tears,
living water,
new life.
Outcasts no longer.
Who are the clean, the chosen?
God, and only God, decides.
posted by Dancing Bare @ 8:01 PM
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