For You,

I turned water into wine, purified in the veins of My own body. I climbed mountains, healed crowds of hunger, warmed a leper’s skin. For you I chastised leaders, halted stones, wrote on the ground each word contained in Love.I overturned unfair prices and low wages, tabled discussions about who’s first or last, and enjoyed the most unlikely company.Before My execution, I tamed a donkey, became your beast of burden, then bled from every pore.Once for all, I buried death, and, when I arose, some saw Me. Some heard Me as I broke throughthe veil, cloaking time and eternity, and, yes, for you, I’d do it all again.Amen.
Mary Harwell Sayler from book A Gathering of Poems