Poem September 19, 1970 Issue

WITNESS FOR TRUTH

Margaret Tsuda

Visualize
a lofty hall,
a judgment seat
magistrate imperially robed
despite irregularities of
accusation and hour.

Consider
the prisoner
bound, manhandled,
one of them,
the common, the conquered,
a hedgerow preacher
betrayed by his own.

"What is truth?"
The Roman governor's question
dangled. It still does
by his standards.
How was it asked?
Whispered cynically?
Bellowed argumentatively?
Enunciated condescendingly?
Not sincerely, for
perhaps, then,
it would have been answered.

Not Pontius Pilate
nor Herod the Tetrarch
nor Annas
nor Caiaphas the High Priest
was Jesus concerned with
convincing.
Enough had been said before
in the temple,
on mountains and plains
and by the seaside.

His answer might
prevent his being
nailed to a cross.
But that was not the point.
More than Pharisees and
Sadducees and other sons
of Abraham there would be
to be convinced.

Generations unborn
whom the Father would call
in his name would know
the Roman governor's question
answered in three days' time.
Finally, fully, and by
demonstration.

The truth of man living in God's eternity.

Margaret Tsuda

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