Odin and Prometheus

Odin crucified himself,
Hallowing his godhood on the hanging tree,
Which winds between the worlds,
In gory glory giving
His eye in order to obtain
The wisdom he was wanting. 
He saw that man must remain
In misery. 
Man was not meant to be content,
Or else he’d give up on his gods. 
So man must be in need,
To keep him on his knees. 
If he is satisfied,
Why would he give a sacrifice?

Prometheus, tho, took no pride,
In what men brought as sacrifice. 
He’d no desire for bloody meat,
But gave man fire,
The gods and Titans seethed. 
They crucified Prometheus,
And let the eagle pierce his side. 
His punishment for helping men. 
And so he sacrificed himself,
To make man finally free. 
So by his gift, we are content,
(Who worships the Olympians?)

Of Odin and Prometheus,
Both sacrificed themselves,
One for himself, and one for man,
One for our life,
And one for greater sacrifice. 
So of these gods,
Which one is Christ?

The Parable of the Builders

The house upon the bedrock,
And house upon the sand,
Though one may last much longer,
In time they both are damned.  

There is no firm foundation,
Not steel nor igneous stone.
First rust and then erosion,
Will wear it slowly down.

My ark is on the waters.
My anchor is the tide.
Its strength is in its weakness.
Humility its pride. 

I’ll swim within His currents,
And in His flow secure.
For now I see the peril,
Of staying on the shore. 

The flood alone’s eternal.
The hand of God is change.
His Spirit stirs the waters.
He rides the clouds and rain.

The stone may seem unmoving,
Its shiftings are but slight.
Securities illusion,
Will be revealed in time. 

For what was rock this morning,
Will be next century’s sand. 
With only time between them,
There’s no firm place to stand.

Blown-Glass Jesus

This theoretical, theological castle you formed of sand,
And you scooped it into your hand,
To flash in a furnace of two thousand degrees. 
Then that liquid glass like a glob on your lips,
Inflating it with your own hot blasphemies. 
That damned image you formed. 

What a mockery in blown glass,
The tears, the blood, the fleashy sweat of Christ,
You bastardized with your pigments and paints. 
The ersatz Messiah
You formed in the image of you,
In the image of you, you created him, 
Male and only male you created him. 
You breathed your breath into him.
Like blowing into molten glass, 
Although it was the breath of death. 

I do not want a blown-glass Jesus
I do not want a god,
As fragile as your masculinity,
Or painted with your vanity. 
I want a god of flesh and sweat,
Or at least a God who has a heart,
And tears to shed,
Lips to kiss, and loving arms. 
I want to call Him Jesus, too,,
But you’ve so thoroughly polluted that name.
You’ve done what no atheist could do,
You’ve rendered Jesus vain. 

Can I even find again the Jesus I need,
Or has your whitewashing finally crucified him for good?
Who knew that the friends who said
They loved him best,
Would actually be the ones to murder him. 
Truly Christ was betrayed with a kiss,
And after you made out with him,
You buried him in scriptural syllogisms. 
It’s been more than three days now,
Is He coming out?
Or will it be
A times time and half a time?
But maybe I could see him soon,
If only you let Him out of his tomb. 
The angels rolled the stone away,
But you quickly sealed it back. 
Lest it break your beautiful image. 
The anti-Christ is a christian, you see,
An alley to our narcissism. 

But I know that if I touched your Christ,
He’d shatter into pretty pieces,
Because he was but Judas after all.
And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t listen,
But you’d grind me into the shards,
In loving discipline. 

And I know you never would worship,
An idol of silver or wood,
So I’ll leave you with your Christ,
Go coddle your god of glass
And wrap him in cotton lest He crack. 
But I’ll go out and look for love. 
And if His scripture is true,
Then I’ll find the real God, too.