He went away from there and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. And on the Sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astonished, saying, “Where did this man get these things? What is the wisdom given to him? How are such mighty works done by his hands? Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon? And are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. And Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor, except in his hometown and among his relatives and in his own household.” And he could do no mighty work there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and healed them. And he marveled because of their unbelief.
And he went about among the villages teaching. Mark 6:1-6
Rolling in to town
old familiar streets
the haunts of our youth
playgrounds and recess dreams
grown beyond those now.
This safe harbor becomes rough
no welcome rather a cold shoulder
jeering and gossip critics abroad
wanting only to come home.
I am not who you thought I might be
I stand out in the crowd and followed
by those who aching and sore
my only fans the world's rejected.
My heart is full of love
my hands open and ready
a voice willing to speak truth
to the tangled seaweed locals
who want to draw me under
one last time.
There is no honor for those
who stand on familiar lanes
and remind communities of commitment
to justice, fairness and healing.
There is no justice for prophets
only tar and feathers and shunning
but love will rise up always
and God's peace with conquer
the worst thrown our way.