Another Boring Day
by John Howard Reid
Another boring day on the road.
Even Yeshua is tired.
There is an end to miracles after all.
A time when hands will no longer conjure healing,
when temp-tied tongue no longer summons angels,
when droopy eyes no longer see blind or lame,
and numbed ears hear no cries for help.
A time when brain and body no longer respond
to the coaxing rein of the Spirit.
Not all the prompting of the Spirit’s whisper
can breathe life into lazy, languid limbs
or kindle one spark in a glazed eye.
Yeshua is angry with Himself.
He resents the body’s sudden surge of supremacy,
its excuse of hunger, its deceits of weaning
weariness, the subtle birth of sleep.
A crowd has gathered in the forecourt.
I, bold Peter, try to send them away.
But they are too keyed up for miracles.
Too keen. Too hungry. Too expectant.
They refuse to go.
I, no-nonsense Peter, tell them plain and sweet:
“The master is worn down from head to feet.
So exhausted he can neither chew a grain of wheat
nor purse his lips for a single morsel of meat.”
I plead in vain. His own words hurl back upon me:
“What needs cannot be met by God?” they all agree.
“Wake the master, stubborn Peter! You will see.”
Herod’s choice! I hunt up Judas from our healer’s throng.
Together, we lay hold of his shoulders hard and strong
until at last he rouses. “Master, master, come along!
Crowds cry for cures and comfort. Come along!”
“Is the Son of Man to have no plan
to eat or sleep? Must questions deep
afflict his heart, tear his soul apart
day and night? Is it wrong, is it right
that sick and seeking be hourly blessed?
Shall the honored guest enjoy no rest?”
“You have elected your own destiny, master,
posed your own conundrums, unraveled
your own riddle. You have no choice
but to obey whatever thoughts
form in your mind.” It was
Judas, always the seer
who knew all the
“And thus, Judas, am I less a man
for forming such selfless healings
and then bringing them to pass?”
“Am I less a man because I call
upon God to revive my soul
and renew my strength?”
“Because God answers you, Yeshua,
straight off. Instantly. Not next week, next
month, next year or never at all. Do you dare to
compare the man who has instant access to the throne
to the beggar who lies in the arch of the gate, bound in body,
soul and spirit to the flesh that encases his mind? Do I too not wish
to heal the broken-hearted, overpower the jailer and set the captives free?”
Yeshua bit his lip until it bled. He stared at us in stony silence, his
lips red with blood. I held a face cloth to his lips to staunch
the flood, but when it fell away, the cloth was clean.
“Why not answer him, master?” I boldly asked
as soon as Judas left to prepare the crowd.
“What has passed, is past. Its memory
is often agony enough. What man
but the Son of Man should know
what his future serves? No!
Its terrors weigh down
his soul. He is no
but a prey