pharisees

You know that bit,
where you were walking on your way to Jerusalem,
and you'd been there heaps of times before,
but never to die.

And the Pharisees kept dogging your steps,
and snorting in disgust when you met with sinners,
ate with tax collectors,
chatted with prostitutes.

And you know how you told them those stories
about the lost sheep,
and the lost coin,
and the lost son.

Were there many Pharisees in the crowd that day,
Pharisees like me,
who have their lines drawn between their version of right,
and their version of wrong.
Who thought they heard your voice,
but weren't listening properly.
Who thought they could impress you,
desperately wanted to,
but couldn't.

Were there any
or many
of those guys
who,
when you told the story about the lost sheep,
and the one about the lost coin,
and especially the one about the lost son.
Were there any who knew that you were trying to get them to understand
that they were being like the grumpy older brother,
and that instead of recognising grace,
they were multiplying sin.
Did any of them get so distracted by the startlingly wonderful,
appallingly miraculous,
blessedly beautiful idea
that you might run after them
and welcome them back,
that they forgot to listen to that bit
about the brother,
and went away wondering,
"maybe I can come be welcomed home too?"

Were there?