The Name Cuts Deep
Here’s another one.
A boy, eight days old.
It’s time: time to cut away
Unneeded flesh, to sign the scar
Of God in manchild’s private place.
No one else will know but him and his.
The rite calls for a name.
Have you a name yet, son?
What shall we call you, little giant?
Call his name “Jesus”? Why?
Because he’ll save his people?
What a huge load for such little shoulders.
What dreams parents have, what expectancies,
Poor little child, to have God’s work
Assigned so soon.
Cut the name in deep. Tattoo it indelibly on tortured Hebrew flesh.
Scare it with raw wounds to acquaint you early
With cross and barbs and nail.
You’ll be Jew soon enough to know
The Name cuts deep in certain flesh.
Now you belong to God.
There’s no escaping that.
His name for eternity. Get used to it now.
“Jesus” is the handle you’ll get used by.
You’ll wish you could change your name
Into incognito, when the whole world
Calls it out in curse and prayer.
Go home for now, lacerated boy,
Don’t grow up too soon.
by Wayne Saffen