The Anvil
Once called a fairy tale, it endures the test of time,
While man’s reason falters and philosophers resign.
From Epicureans lost and ancient pagans gone,
Christianity’s story steadfastly marches on.
Once called atheists by the Romans
Ironically they have the doldrums
Its plot, its heart, cannot be stripped away,
No morals, no miracles, no truth without its sway.
Other faiths may linger when the wonders have begun,
Yet strip the Bible’s marvels, and its story is undone.
God become Man the tale that makes (not breaks) our rules,
No legend or teaching from any other wise or ancient schools
Dares claim Incarnation, love descending from the skies
A philosopher’s tale for children, but for grown and searching eyes.
Where are these philosophers today? Have they not all gone away:
Lucretius, Julian the Apostate, Averroes, The Gnostics of the ancient world
Voltaire, La Mettrie, Ayer and those who reason in a destructive whirl?
No Buddha, no Socrates, nor prophet in the East,
Would dare declare themselves as God, or take on this Holy Paraclete:
If you ask the Buddha, "Are you the son of Brahma?"
He would have said "You’re in the veil of illusion to even ask” comma
If you would have asked Socrates, are you Zeus?"
he would have scowled then laughed at you
If you ask Confucius, "Are you in heaven, Tien?
“It is bad taste in a polite society to ask.” He would have said
If you would ask Muhammad, "Are you Allah?" he would have rent
his clothes in rage and then probably cut off your head.
Yet Jesus, among all others, declared divinity,
So the tale persists, a mystery for eternity.
Reason remains but doubters pass, their systems now mislaid,
But the tale of Incarnation this miracle remains unswayed.
A philosopher’s tale that lives as fact, a story hard to sever,
The heart of faith and meaning, enduring now, forever.
On the Christian anvil many hammers have been exhausted
Just precisely because of what it costed
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