I know not the man
On the willows, there
We hung up our lives
For our captors there
Required
Of us songs
And our tormentors mirth

On the willows, there
We hung up our lives
For our captors there
Required
Of us songs
And our tormentor's mirth
Saying
Sing us one
Of the songs of Zion
Sing us one
Of the songs of Zion
But how can we sing?
Sing the Lord's songs?
In a foreign land?
On the willows, there
We hung up our lives

I wish I did. He is hidden behind a veil drawn by first century men who tried to share their joy and understanding but couldn't get beyond their expectations which colored all that is recorded so that not all the redlining in the world can find me a word I know he said, nor the context in which it was said. All I can know is what these men choose to share and I want to tear apart their limited and crippled twisting of Gospel for they are keeping me from knowing him.

I, like my father before me, will start to look for the Risen Lord and try to see the incarnation bursting forth in the lives of those around me. If I can begin to see what God sees when I look at people within the world, then I might begin to know Jesus.

I'll start by looking for those who wash feet, at those who anoint heads.