Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Easter (a poem)
I'm not saying all Christian businesses are bad. I'm not condemning the Christian publishers or radio and broadcast people. But we must hold ourselves to a higher standard than the world. We must constantly remember the paradox of engaging our culture in a language it understands but still seeking first the Kingdom of God.
I found Jesus in the shower
behind the church pulpit
in the green room built for brides.
I don’t know why he was there
his Styrofoam self crucified, crooked
against tiles, one arm poking past
the creased anti-mildew curtain.
He must have been part of a catalogue
package deal—between advent candles
and bulk host—Buy the cross,
get the Jesus. The cross
someone painted faux wood
and mounted stage left,
empty “because Jesus rose.”
The Styrofoam Jesus, no one painted.
His grimace a ghostly bleached white
waits in that back room for someone
like me to notice while standing to pee
Jesus Christ! in the shower.
HillCountryWriter Category: Poetry
Technorati Tags: poetry writing verse
Very thought-provoking. And thoughts aside, I can feel it.
Even when we set Jesus aside, he manages to be present.
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