As we amputate Christ ... (2.1.07)

As we amputate Christ …

The lights are on

But you’re not home

We may as well

Be elsewhere, alone,

As in this shell

To the ear, and tell,

White noise

With poise

But no action, no swell.

His hands and feet

They say we are

Reaching out

Stretching far

In the name of hope

Peace and love,

In the triune unity

Of one above.

But laid out bare

On the surgeons table

No elements here

A suburban fable

Christ is cold

Religious anesthetic

Framed in scrubs

Hypocrisy, pathetic.

As men and women


boys and girls

Reach down the throats

Of swine

Find pearls

Adorn the neck

Of Christ almighty


Eyes shut

Taking lightly,

All that screams

From history’s witness

All that has power

Avoids the pointless.

And marked on wrists 

Ankles too

Black dotted lines

Cut here

Join the queue,

Of those intent 

To amputate

The risen Lord

To seal his fate.

His hands and feet

Separated, gone

Sealed to the trite

Of another worship song

written to calm 

The spoilt heart

Written rhetorical,

Start, end, start,

As around we go

Round about,

No exit seen

No journeyed clout

And missed are the chances

In which Apostles shone

Gone are the pathways which to the

Spiritual belong,

Yet cosy and

Somehow appeased

Onward seek

The seeker-sensitive,


For Christ in vain,

(Or so it seems for now)

Bore the pain

(although I don’t know how)

For surely if he knew the means

Sought by those

He came to glean

There may have been a turning


Beyond the prozac shuffling blues,

And he may have instead

Envisioned a place

Where the wealthy gave up

To the poor, the defaced

Those without dignity,

Those imprisoned,

Lost in scarcity,

A land in which his body could abound

A Kingdom in which all scattered

Were found,

If only he’d had the eyes to see

A vision like this

What Utopia there would be

Upon our doorsteps

Under our noses

Ready and waiting

Challenge posing

Our God not enough?

Our faith misled?

Surely of his hope,

This was his dread,

I ask you friends

Ask you to drink what was bled,

Are we blindfold,

Are we dead?

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