Sunday Morning Rain

Drops echo lightly,
Watery ricochet
Becoming flow,
Spouting down
To nature’s thirst.

Odd that it never rains
In the gospels,
As if Noah was enough.
Only the tax collector
Cites a short word, or phrase,
Perhaps two,
Mere remnants of rain,
Like the short shower
Left behind by the storm.

The disciple He loved
Tells another kind,
A saving rain,
A baptizing downpour,
The soaking salvation
Of love called
Jesus wept.