Israel Centeno

Oh, creature,
what makes you more special than the bee
that pollinates and fertilizes the earth?
Why do you question My Justice
when I do not come to the defense of your own?

Tell Me then,
did I give you My breath
so you could be arrogant?
What prevents nature from taking its revenge,
species and forests you’ve exterminated,
rivers you’ve poisoned,
skies you’ve darkened?

What makes you more special
than the cow and the grass you eat?
Your planned cruelties,
your crimes against your own kind,
have you seen the planet without you,
without someone like you to think it through
and pretend to discover it all?

The visible and the invisible
were revealed in a broken body,
in the flesh torn of the One
who did not cling to His glory,
but emptied Himself to the last drop.

Would I not give you to the worms?
You will know death and pain,
affliction and abandonment.
You will know what it means
to be delivered to dust
like the Son of Man
who bowed His head
and exhaled His spirit.

But here lies the mystery:
His breath did not dissipate into nothingness,
His flesh did not see corruption,
and in the open wounds of His side
the redemption of the world was sown.

Oh, creature,
what makes one truly special is Love.
If you do not learn to Love
you will not rise again.

Because if I did not exist,
as the Holy Spirit whispered in Fyodor Dostoevsky,
everything would be permitted to you.

But I Am.
And the veil was torn.
And death does not have the final word.