An argument for the costly care of the least of these

grayscale photography of patient and relative holding hands
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If
wrinkled Boomers
with diabetes and heart disease
amputations and hemiparesis
are random collisions of worn out atoms
draining our society of valuable resources…

If
the cost of rehabilitating the Grey Tsunami,
aphasic from stroke,
requiring a hoyer lift
to move their paralyzed frames
from bed to a rolling shower chair
so nurses’ aides can wash silver strands
and run, warm soapy water under breasts
and cleanse away the urine and waste they cannot control
is debilitating our healthcare system…

Why
nurse them with care and aide?
Why not kiss them on the cheek
and hand them over to death
and use the thirty or more pieces of silver to give to the poor
and make our lives a little easier?
Because…

Imago Dei
In every crooked grin
In every slobbered chin
On the face of every one of us
Who sin
And live
And don’t quite die
But slowly break down
In a body of death
Still coursing with blood
And disease

We’re holy
Bone and flesh
Breasts and chest
Bowel and bladder
Tongue and breath

Jesus
in the least of these
who have yet to peak beyond the womb,
whose contracted legs
curl up in an aged, fetal form

We
tremble and shudder
We’re traumatized
We give dignity
and pour expensive resources
on the broken body
because…

Imago Dei

Call to the highways and hedges

alcoholic beer cars city
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Bitter old woman
Cowardly elder man
Skeptical, empowered Misses
Lonely, not-sure-if-he’s-a-Mister
Hardened party-girl
Driven, young millionaire
Homeless, enslaved to heroine
Lost and scared teen- baby on the way

All the poor,
broken,
forgotten.

All the crippled,
drooling,
loud,
misunderstood.

All the liars
the thieves
the betrayers
the deceived.

Jesus came for you.

A call for the aged

person on bench
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What will you do
when your face frowns
deep creases grow
and you’ve lost your youthful glow?

What when bladders can no longer contain
what for years
you emptied in a private latrine?

Now your hands are crippled
aged bones.
Now your muscular thighs
give out from your stroke.
Now you look up from your
stooped stance
slowly
squinting to find
an image you did not expect.

Time and death have take their toll.
Cell by cell you’re broken and old.
Now what of those fancy clothes?
What of those cars and trips?
What of years spent on prominence?

Where can you go when you can’t go
without help?
What will you do when you can no longer
get up and move?

Years have been given to love God and others
and now that your body is breaking down
how will you cash in all your stock dividends?

Come now, you who cannot speak without slur
or walk without dragging your foot.
Come you grey heads and broken minds.
Come you laying down to die.
Come buy without money or health
the broken body of Christ
has bought for you life.