I’m standing in the back unsteady,
not understanding Your story about good seed
fields with soil rich and deep,
enemies in the night that plant weeds,
which burn in bundles while reaping the wheat.
Later I ask, which makes You laugh
but it’s laughter of a patient kind,
for You take the time to tell me
You’re the sower, the field the world,
the seeds You plant, your people, me,
among the weeds, the devil’s lies, I’ll grow,
His own, until the end of time
while evil dies in flames, we’ll shine together,
and Peter, You say, *blessed are your questioning ears,
for you hear what prophets prayed to hear,
the mysteries they strained for years
to see before your eyes.

You turn water into wine at a wedding,
then I sit on a Sabbath day watching
as you give a sermon better than the scribes,
drive a demon from the dead eyes
of an unclean man who screams
you’re the Holy God and King--
one night, I bring you home to my wife,
and her mother fevered, flickering life
on a bed upstairs she’s cold, shivering
til you hold her hand and lift her laughing,
well, so whole she can run to open the door
for knocking neighbors, who come in crying
and leave smiling, all sickness and evil spirits fleeing
you, who’s gone to pray when I wake next morning,
who I search for, frantic, fearing losing you
as I’ve just begun to find you.

Lately the sun’s warmed the sea, the fish hide deep
still as we sail you say to me these nets just washed let down,
I obey, for my brother names you Messiah, found,
and I wonder what you are that catches crowds—
suddenly I haul away at weight that weighs the boat
to sinking, I spent weeks worth working for half a load
as large as this, impossible cargo your power calls
and I cry leave me at your feet among the fish, face low,
for the blood of days is on my hands,
and in me there is too much man
but you stay with words I don’t understand:
*You have a new name, Peter, don’t be afraid  
we’ll catch men in the waters of this world.