Desperately Avoiding Desperation

To have Christ
Is to be desperate,
Like a blind man tripping in the streets,
Like a prostitute caught in the act
With wails of admittance
That she has nothing left.

But such a state
I so desperately avoid
For it is the unraveling
Of my life's work,
Who wants to be broke?
Who finds comfort in emptiness?
Who volunteers to be naked?

No one chooses Christ.
And while "blessed are they
Who are poor in spirit,"
Who aims for a life
like that?

Rather, I patch up my selfishness with a stringent regime.
I forget my neediness by seeking out yours.
I hide my anxiety behind a facade of glowing accomplishments.
I escape my ordinariness by acquiring your envy.
I rectify my ignorance by endlessly mulling.
I stuff my fears by circular mistrust.
I ignore my sorrows with activity's flurry.
I deny my fragility with a flux of power.
I avoid making waves by sinking beneath
And drowning in another sort of death.

But to have Christ
Is to be made desperate,
By noise or trick,
Treatment foul or sick,
Isolation, agitation
Conflagration—
All that we called evil
May bring us now to this.

So in these prayers,
May I ask not
For deliverance
From all that brings about
This desperation
Which draws me
To you.

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