At the intersection of arrogance
and mercy a memorial seeps
into the earth: oil from the olive,
water from the enemy,
blood of the wounded, its anthem
a tattoo of pilgrim feet released
from the mountaintop, hurrying
down. Underground it feeds
roots of weeds and olive trees.
One springs up for a day, wreaks
its seeds and withers;
the other stands staunch witness
to the precipitous descent of violence
and the breathless, dangerous rise of love.

I am away at General Convention and not preaching today. However, listening to this morning’s Gospel of the parable of the Good Samaritan, envisioning the steep and scary road from Jerusalem down to Jericho, I was moved to revisit also the intersection referenced in yesterday’s prayer poem, to seek hope in the mercy that Jesus related. Where is our mercy? Where is our hope?