Withered stem

Imagine, you are entering the Holy temple of Gods true worship.

Inside these bright, clean walls you see a man,

your fellow lover of God and keeper of his law,

this spiritual man planted in the soil of true faith.

As your eyes climb this fellow vine that seeks to grow

in this vineyard that God made,

you can’t help but see a flaw in this otherwise healthy stock.

Like the dry, curled stems of a fruitless plant

no longer able to hold its grapes,

here his right hand, the illustrated source of his great strength,

is withered, pulling in on itself in debase.

Your empathetic heart is touched at the sight

of this fellow flora whose spiritual roots intertwine with your own.

If only I could ease his suffering

and bless him with renewed productivity and a purpose to grow.

You would gladly give to him anything you possess

if only he could reach out to you and take it.

But like this man, you too are the inhabitation of limitations,

even if they exist only beneath the soil,

your own suffering kept hidden from watching eyes

that look on only to judge your sins, forcing lies.

Would it be lawful to do good on this sacred of days?

If he were an animal in distress

would you not reach out your healthy hands

to relieve its pain?

Could it truly be unlawful to ease the misery

of another living being?

To do otherwise would be inhumane.

And despite that word containing “human,”

you are less likely to be judged

for protecting the invested tools of your own means to survive,

than for extending the same mercy to your own earth-mate

Entering into this scene of spiritual dilemma is Jesus Christ,

the man developing a new movement of worship

with its foundation set on love of God and fellow man.

How would he, a perfect reflection of the Heavenly Father

in whose house of worship we have come, respond?

You look on with interest at how this new teacher of divine wisdom

will mirror the image of the creator from which he came.

Others look on too, but their motives are clear.

Their intentions toward this man do not stem

from a plant seeking to nourish the ultimate good

of their vine-mate.

These scribes, holders of doctorates of the law

that built this house of pure beliefs,

seek to use this man’s disability as bait

to lure the compassionate teacher

to violate

their rendition of the law

that they have taken upon themselves to translate.

Calling attention to this man

who wishes only to forget his distressed state

and lose himself in the sweet nourishment

of worshiping his beloved deity,

he is thrust into the center of this conflict stage,

having begged not for the spotlight

to be cast upon his otherwise serene escape.

“Is it lawful to heal on this most holy day?”

Perhaps now unearthed from his tranquility

and prayerful state,

his personal investment in this controversial request

pulls awareness toward the great instructor’s reply.

Reaching out to his impaired brother

to have him come closer in a warmer display,

the teacher’s reply radiates

with the true spirit of God’s concern

that should be the only reflection

of the practice of his mandates.

With one sentence he resets the scene:

How could it be unlawful to do a good deed?

The deafening silence of their response

shouted their dissent.

It betrayed hearts numbed

by a myopic view of technicalities.

Like ants crawling over the landscape

of a painted scene,

they could not share the principles

of Gods great view,

incapable of seeing the forest

from the painted strokes

of these man-made trees.

The teacher’s empathy turned

from the man he would soon relieve

to the guardians of law

whose fixation on knowledge

left only coldness in their hearts of stone.

Indignant and grieved

by this moment cast in their disdain,

in one act he shone bright

the light of the loving proprietor

of this holy place.

“Stretch out your hand!”

As the man reached out

toward the warmth of this new light,

his crippled member was restored

to its former rejuvenated state.

No longer would he hide it away,

reminding himself and others

of the pain and suffering outside

the walls of this sanctuary of faith.

How will you respond to this miracle of love?

With empathy that would emanate

concern for our fellow servant’s ill fate?

Will it cause me to share in his pain

turned joyful elate?

Or like these doctors of law

will I fail to see the true healing

that came from compassion

reflected by this embodiment

of divine adorate?

Will I allow the soul of my heart to soften

by this compassionate interpretation

that the law encased?

Or like these malevolent men

will my heart prefer to hate?