And I recall the joy of playing with my little brother when we were growing up, and getting into good-natured mischief together. I still enjoy his company. And I know that I am lucky.
Many people are not so lucky. Thinking about “family” doesn’t bring them joy. And the terms “brother” and “father” bring them pain. So using those terms for Jesus/ God can be less than helpful.
But the fact remains that Jesus did walk on earth and participate in this sometimes wonderful, sometimes painful, thing we call family. A while back I was asked to write a poem about Jesus’ humanity and I found myself wondering what it would have been like to have been his actual brother, or sister. And how that fraternal closeness extended to his disciples. And extends to us now.
He stands with me
together in our father’s workshop
catches my eye
his own eyes bright with amusement
words unspoken
just an explosion of laugher
sharing life.
Here, united in our labours
his carpenter’s hands mould the wood
artfully crafting
skills honed by repeated attempts
and failures
not unfamiliar with frustration
and disappointments.
Friendships forged
bonded like family in understanding
sweet outpouring
of love now unafraid to seek assistance
trusting still
as painful tears fall unrestrained
‘til hope is resurrected.
We walk together
he laughs and works and weeps
travelling light
mindful of greater needs to be met
upturning tables
outbursts of anger misunderstood
wholly holy.
Dawn turns to dusk
I see him strain with unceasing effort
wrestling temptation
suggestions of an easier option
a way out
exhausted but not overcome
he chooses goodness.
He stands alone
surrounded by the crowds
catches my eye
his own eyes filled with understanding
heart breaking
he calls out my name
he calls me brother.
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