(In honor of Holy Week’s Table Turning Monday, I offer this liturgy of (in)justice. This was originally a sung and spoken-word piece I did for a class presentation on the theology of anthropology.)
When Israel was in Egypt’s land
Let my people go
Oppressed so hard they could not stand
Let my people go
Go down, Moses,
Way down to Egypt’s land.
Tell old Pharaoh
to let my people go.
Go down, Moses,
way down to the riverside
that runs with the blood of the mined-up earth
shining oil and topsoil run-off
dry-throated children crouch on the shores
with plastic pails they gather in life and death
and we, the blood-letters
don’t have to watch
their illness fester on the banks of the river of life
they ask for no parting of the water—
only a clear cup to drink
Go down, Moses,
way down to the city of tents
where a young girl kicks at a ball of rags
and tries to bury the sound of gunshots
in the swift, strong movement of muscle
sit with her there
and do not try to explain away
the horror she hides in the catch in her smile
give her that cup of cold, clear water
but don’t expect to be rewarded with the return of innocence
stolen by the greed built into our daily commute
Go down, Moses,
way down to the prison cell
where a tattooed man holds his head in his hands
and weeps
because he was a prisoner long before he got here
and yesterday during visiting hours
he saw his daughter’s face for the very first time
and he was afraid
afraid of the chains he saw growing around her tiny ankles
chains that snake through the houses of my neighborhood
and end at my doorstep
Go down, Moses,
Way down to Egypt’s land.
Tell old Pharaoh
to let my people go.
Go down, Moses,
way down to the path that leads to the tree of life
fall down on your knees in the dust of the earth
where I buried my hands and wondered
how can such fertile ground
shape such barren people?
Tell me, Moses, how I got here
And tell me, please, where all this is going
Tell me plagues have to do with freedom
Tell me the price of the firstborn was worth it
But most of all, Moses, tell me I am going with you
Show me a God who stretches out her mighty arm
and scatters our expectations
a God who holds our hearts and softens them
to each other
to Herself
Go down, Moses,
Way down to Egypt’s land.
Tell old Pharaoh
to let my people go.
Tell me, Moses
what do I do
when I discover that I am not in Egypt
I AM Egypt
Let my people go.
cassidhe hart 