The Laughing Lesson

What were we to do?

The frantic flock would only grow next day

and we had barely stretched
 
their few bitter crusts among the fire huddlings.

They were surely held with a holier hunger.

Who, then, but Simon to remonstrate,

“No manna has fallen here

but these piles of donkey chips

we see scattered round about.

Shall we compose a blessing now for these?”

Thomas clearly took offense.

Andrew caught his laughter 

before it burst again through his nose.

Only then did we remember the Master,

and our sheepish eyes crept to find His face.

       No scorn listed there,

but with a sigh,

He closed his eyes and shook His head from side to side.

Then, repeating Simon’s name,

as Simon lived to hear Him call it,

      the Master laughed.

With His head drawn back and His eyes still closed,

as when He held that limp little girl and prayed

His face lifted toward heaven

and tears glistening in His beard.

He laughed, knowing, as He always did, the outcome.

       “If a son asks for a fish, will the father give him a snake?”

The Master laughed with us.

His tough, darkened olive arms

crossed over His naked chest,

and when, at last, His glinting

reflection of shikinah joy

fell down again upon us,

the low lake sun danced from His eyes

into our hearts.

He filled us. We heard

       laughter in the praise of heaven.