Flowers Growing in the Street

There is something about Jesus telling the religious dudes that rest serves men, and not the other way around
I imagine he said it with nonchalance, as when he drew on the ground, refusing to engage the crime of judgment or hate—
The very thing religion breeds when grounded in anything but love

Rest is for me, and then,
“The world is not for me, but I am for the world"
That’s not a bad mantra for liberty 
You start trying to do something, with the right motive
And then, since you can’t do a pure anything on your own, you have to let God in,
Laughing, as with an old friend who wonders why you were so long away

Or you can just pretend you’re good enough and then take precious things, like Sabbath rest, and make of them a contest
To prove how desirable you are, and good

Meanwhile the dog lapping at your feet
And the flowers growing in the cracks of the street
And the fire that rises into the night
Give not one thought to how good they are and just want love and sun and light

Let us always remember:
Jesus was accused of being drunk and loving bread too much
And, in general, having too much fun