I will be shocked
if you are just
Christ of the Pearly Gates,
for I have reason to hope that you are
Christ of the Barbed Wire Fence,
coiling around prison walls
draped in the torn rags
of a blue uniform.
I have reason to conspire
that you may, in fact, be
Christ of the
“DANGER! DO NOT CROSS,”
tape,
and Christ of those
Blue and Red Flashing Lights
in the distance.
You might even be
Christ of the Cracks
in the West Bank Wall.
If your Christ-y-ness stops
at being
Christ of the Power Tie,
Christ of the Doctorate,
Christ of the Holiday Home,
or Christ of the Fourteenth Floor Office
with a Panoramic View of the CBD;
count me out.
For I have heard in hushed rumours
that you are Christ of the Unemployed,
Christ of the Homeless,
and Christ of the
I-Work-Three-Jobs-
To-Put-Food-On-The-Table-
For-My-Kids
which makes me suppose
that you may be more than just
Christ of the Stained Glass Window.
You are the Light,
pouring through
two dimensional frames,
drenching a tired congregation with colour
and reanimating the weary
with three dimensional joy.
You are Christ of the Abyss,
made perfect in the eyes of the Sculptor
then cast into the sea;
beaten by waves,
pockmarked with barnacles,
scarred by the dangling anchors
of passing ships
and slicked with shiny oil,
from the latest spill
just off the coast
of some once lovely shore.
The Royal Rebel, the King of Kindness,
the Prince of Playing in the Mud.
You are the Rolled-Up-Sleeves Regal,
and the Honest Friend,
who leads me to trust
the Abyss does end
and that when it does;
there you’ll be
beaten by my own blindness,
pockmarked with nails
which I would have helped to hammer,
scarred by the anchors
of my crestfallen cries
and drenched in the light of God
who draws you forth from the mire
cradling his children, in your arms.
catherinesietkiewicz.com 