Jesus' Chairs Poem by Rob Dyer

I often think of Jesus' chairs:
they stood so firm
jointed with the Craftsman's eye,
their shape so soft
polished long with loving hand.

Orders came all over Palestine;
the Romans too admired his craft,
a chance for power and influence.
Why choose the lesser road,
in wayside synagogues,
which loveless diatribes
long since discredited?

How hard to leave the well-loved awl,
the trusty chisel, level, plane.
When my craft is praised,
I pause, and think of Jesus' chairs.