Party, party, party
You hit the ground running,
Ready to go,
Fleeing as an infant refugee
Preaching to your elders before your bar mitzvah
Then out to the desert
Partying before your baptism
A brief interlude, jousting with the devil
And then you hit those streets
And that beach, those villages and towns
Showing folk how to live, not merely exist.
And the buttoned up zipped up killjoys didn’t like it one bit
They’d long forgotten what it was to enjoy themselves
How to celebrate
Even though the history of their culture was one of feast and celebration
Even though the God they worshipped so religiously
Was a God of laughter and lovin’
And now the Son, sent to show the nature of God
Was livin’ it up
Prostitutes, tax collectors, sinners
The shunned and the outcasts
What did you think you were playing at?
Didn’t you know you would ruffle their feathers?
Or didn’t you care?
Too busy living life to the max to care whose sandal shod feet you trod on
And did it do any good?
Did it make any difference?
Certainly not to those religious high heid yins
They sorted you.
Saw you off.
But, as they were dusting off their hands,
Ironing the wrinkles out of their creased smug faces
There was a whole batch of the really holy
The ones you had consecrated by including in the party.
Who were gutted at your sudden departure
But who could never be undesirable again
Because you had taught them how to really party
How to focus on what really matters
You had loved them back to life
And no amount of religious posturing could ever rob them of that love
With you, there’s always an excuse to party
Always an excuse to throw off the rules and get down to it
The real business of life
Which is love
But we have to hit the streets running with you
And party, party, party.
Liz Crumlish 2009