Poem May 2, 1988 Issue

There standeth one among us

Sally Seagull Johnstone

But what went ye out for to see? (Matthew 11:8)

Seasoned by the wilderness
No ordinary fare sustains his pace.

His locust meat offends the chic
Though it frees our wheat from blight.

Salt that shrivels gossip into alkali or brass
Looses his brave tongue.

Honey deemed too sharp by saccharine hearts
Measures his response to all he loves.

Wind swaddles him in bright fresh shirts and
Tatters what is waste.

Neither shaken like a reed nor blurred by softer clothes
He hews to what is true.

God has plumbed his consciousness
And, behold, a crystal spring—

He fashions His prophet with a cup
We will drink from when he offers us his depths—

The radical prerequisite to Christ.

Sally Seagull Johnstone

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The search for "the majesty of man"

May 2, 1988

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