I am sorry to say 
that today is not convenient 
for revolution. I have 
Sadducees coming for dinner 
and some scribes – I did not 
tell them of each other – I 
have employed unemployed 
tax collectors as wait staff 
and women of repute  
for the cabaret. Mary 
is livid, Martha apoplectic. 
My mother preached reversal
but I am inclined toward a broader mischief.

I wasn’t preaching today – thanks to our wonderful deacon – but this poem came from mulling this week over the Magnificat, and Jesus’ strange, illogical ranking of John as greatest but least, making me wonder whether the redistribution he envisions is less an inversion than a radical reimagination of fortunes.