Cross skyward floating ablend with the night
Jesus hanging from the ceiling all tangled up on a cross so luxuriously adorned
And me sitting staring
or walking wondering
In speechless proclamation (which is contemplation)
I can't escape
We shan't escape
the question:
What difference does Jesus make?
In answer I blink an unknowing blink
or smile a smile like on the face of a child
What difference, what difference, what difference
up there
does Jesus make?
Stuck on, plastered on to some crosses with years of complacent idolization
Idolizing the son of God with his bleeding hands, his bleeding sides, his bleeding brow
Fixing him to the cross with our
inaction our
indifference our
toleration of indecency
Some crosses emptied of flesh
Bare and naked like the Jesus we've peeled off of it
Peeled and empty and left to dangle round our necks
below our chins held high with the touch of arrogance that comes
with the assurance of our place round the throne
What difference does Jesus make?
Stuck up there half dead
Or ripped off and disregarded
Where's the living Jesus?
Where's the moving Jesus?
Where's the loving Jesus?
He spoke of movement
we've settled for inaction
He touched with love
we are touched with arrogance
What difference does Jesus make?
Can't be answered by the sound of sloppy words
Only answered by our unknowing, our cease striving, our becoming
"Come to me all you who are sick of the way things are
the way things ought not be
and I will give you rest
I will show you peace
I will teach you the rhythms of grace
Only come to me
Become like me"
What difference does Jesus make?
What difference are we making?
For Christ's sake, what's the difference?
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