Get Your Premium Membership

What Is Your Answer

His head lifted, and looking for his brothers, He found his mum, sanely able again to relate to him, Cold, death-like figure, icy face, warm outline of a kin, Grieving, her brave face emanated hope for him; His head stayed up, but only for a few more moments, Then it dropped causing more pain from his hands, Which held his body up on a wooden cross. Did he expire for me? No, I think not: Only that he died for his life’s work on earth, Which the government objected to so strongly: Crucifixion was their penalty for dissidence; People wanted to pay taxes to him, Not ordinarily to the state, the Romans, Who had to uphold government as functional, A structure for the people’s good in every way, Or in this case, as an ultimately good structure, As that’s what did transpire; So they had to dehumanise and demote him; God did not appear so as to invoke his torture. When asked by ministers, leaders and Christian friends, If Jesus died for me, I reply no, But that the answer is not not: I then proceed to say that I’m not excluded from its effects, That he didn’t not, and that society has evolved, From previous societies as history is humanity’s driver. Martin Luther King did not die for me, And it would be insane to say that he did, But I cannot help but think that I have benefited sadly, From the assassination which caused such a hue and cry, Everywhere, in all nations, amongst all people. So no, Jesus didn’t die for me, But I appreciated taking communion once, Although my problem is I’ve had it too much since, Felt I didn’t need to have it ever again, And I sometimes appreciate Colin Peckham’s arrangement, Of the hymn ’Tis Finished, The Messiah Dies. I understood that Jesus did something, For disability and health, Let the people speak and converse with others, About their bodies, conditions and care needs, Not just the sole problem of a doctor; They had the absolute right to life like everybody else, Out with government, gossip or religious creed, But human to human, They stood tall as people amongst people. My disability heritage is my disability heritage, Just as it is, not constructed or fictitious, But a text, open for all to read; The man Jesus drowns in the theology of the church, So you can just ignore its doctrine and catechisms; Jesus is not alive for me, but dead, And I think that if you think that he’s not alive, You won’t be mentally ill, sentimental or emotional, But an alive, rational, sane person.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.