The Temple still rings from yesterday’s whip—
coins scattered, doves freed, tables upturned.
Today the priests and elders draw near,
robes crisp with power, eyes sharp with scorn.

“By what authority do You do these things?”
they demand, voices smooth as Temple stone.
“Who gave You leave to teach, to cleanse, to claim
what we have guarded as our own?”

He turns their trap with one swift question back—
“John’s baptism— from heaven, or from men?”
They whisper, trapped between the crowd and fear,
and answer weakly, “We do not know.”

Then silence falls from Him who holds all right,
yet mercy lingers in the air He breathes.
He tells of sons who say but do not go,
of vineyards seized by tenants filled with greed.

The questioning hearts that still confront the King
test the One who made the very ground.
He grants them courage not to trap, but bow,
and own the authority that turns the world around.
they find the grace to kneel before His throne.