We say “you are the hands and feet of Jesus”
to those who serve the sojourner.
But as you come by caravan
in search of refuge
I wonder.
If I am the hands and feet of Jesus,
then what part of Christ’s Body are you?
–
You, whose feet traverse the ground
of countries far from home
as you wrestle with God’s promise
that he will much more clothe you;
as you wait for years in a country
that beckons the poor and the tired to her shores
Lady Liberty.
Does she mock?
Or does she weep?
As you approach with hands raised
surrendered to a system
where predators and extortionists walk free
rule this country –
like Barabbas, the criminal set free.
–
Meanwhile, you wait in prison
for having the audacity to believe
that your brothers and sisters
would heed the command of Jesus
to feed the hungry
clothe those in need.
–
Can you hear the crowds chanting
like they did back then?
“Lock Her Up.”
2000 years later
the lash of the whip still echoes on the back of
Christ’s broken Body
–
Lord have mercy
as we point to invisible lines
on God-breathed Earth
to justify why you
with an infant on your back
must wait outside our tall fences
with no place to lay your head.
If I am the hands and feet of Jesus,
then what part of Christ’s Body are you?
–
You, who travels through the darkest of nights
who cries out to God from the desolate deserts of your journey
stomach empty not from fasting but from hunger
as you patiently wait for new morning mercies.
You, who yet sings a song of praise to God
and hopes beyond hopes
with eyes fixed through the most dimly lit mirror.
You, who sojourns to Babylon
to bring spirit-ordained healing to a nation
blinded by pride and comfort
sloth and greed.
–
The prophet Jeremiah declared:
“They dress the wounds of my people
as though it were not serious;
saying ‘peace, peace’
When there is no peace.”
There is no peace
as we expel you in need of refuge
to shark shaped shores.
You sojourn here
confronting idols in lands that are not home
with bare hands folded in prayers
that flip the tables of our idolatrous kingdoms
betrayed by an unjust system, yet:
–
praising God –
while you drink this cup of suffering
that we offered you instead of water.
You endure the mocking and scorn
as we question if you are
who you say you are.
Even now, you cling to hope in a paradise
where a room has been prepared
which you know full well
lies not beyond these towering walls.
You exhale a maranatha prayer
¡Ven o Señor!
Come, Lord Jesus
–
If we are Christ’s body
then His healing hands
and feet that bring good news
are not mine, but
Yours.
Monica Bharadwaj
