Well, answer me, for God’s love, Christ, speak up— Explain Your perfect Paradise to me, Where Clare and Francis sup (quite possibly) With those who poison your once-sacred cup: With rapists, killers, child-molesting priests, Where Stalin (maybe, through Your holy grace) Meets tortured gulag inmates face to face And sings hosannahs at the endless feast! Yes, You forgive us, Lord, I know that part— But we’re just human, Jesus, You forget, So how can we forgive what we have done? — Oh, wait. . . Your human mother’s human heart Was pierced by me, and each of us, and yet She loves me still, the killer of her Son.