I
I want to walk beside you, Jesus,
Down the road by the side of the hill,
And sit beneath some broad-leafed trees
Beside an abandoned well.
I could sit for days and I’d listen
To stories from when you were young;
The way you discerned your life’s mission,
And the things you did for fun.
I’d like to hear of your sisters and brothers,
And the people you knew on your block.
Did you ever long for a lover?
Were you ever much of a jock?
Did you need to develop your powers?
Were there some things you had to learn?
How has your life become ours?
How do you expect to return?
I’d like to fish with you under the moon
On a row-boat without any cares,
And sing you my favorite tunes,
And kiss your face and hair . . .
II.
I’d ask about those you befriended
And your relationship to Paul,
Where you’ve been since the day you ascended,
And your connection to the God of us all.
I’d like to hear your version of history;
The lives of great leaders like you;
The meaning in human misery,
And how much we can know or do.
Did you never make any errors?
Do you think we could all be that strong?
Or, in this world of heartbreak and terror,
Is there anything “right” or “wrong”?
What do you think of those Gospel reports
And how would you put it today?
What do you think has been most distorted
About things you had to say?
How are your wisdom and kindness
Reflecting out to the earth?
How long must we live in our blindness?
When comes the promised re-birth?
III.
Do we remember you right as the hero
Who wore those painful thorns,
As you made it down to point zero,
Proclaiming the joy of the born –
Remember passing out the bread and wine
In honor of the Passover Miracle?
Did you make it holy, or was it blessed all the time?
Do you think of your Self as material?
And please come now and take me to task
With your version of heaven and hell!
I want to hear what questions you’d ask of me,
And I answer with what I can tell.
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