A cuckoo
in the holy nest,
can I
admit to what I see?
A Jesus
who is rough and hard,
a normal
bloke like you and me,
a Jesus
who could moan a bit,
a Jesus
who could weep and sigh,
a Jesus
who could laugh and joke,
a Jesus
who could bleed and die.
Oh sometimes,
yes, he's meek and mild,
but never
when he ought to be;
forever
giving disrespect
to
leaders like that Pharisee.
And yet
that name, 'how sweet the sound',
masks who
he was and gives us pause
to
sanctify humanity,
to take
away all human flaws.
And what is left for us to praise?
Emasculated
God lies dead,
right
there beside a human corpse,
was it, I
wonder, what I said?
Perhaps I ought to trust the lie
that if I
doubt my God is dead?
But faith
is possibility:
that hope
is latent in my head!
© Andrew Pratt 18/3/2012
Inspired
by Sydney Carter’s Rock of Doubt chap 3