Jesus

Your Jesus might be different
than mine. Mine does not
have a guitar or drums, or sing
loudly in the church with a
microphone, or rants and raves
and dances with frenetic limbs
flying about. He isn't wearing
a hat or a robe lined in gold,
or a shiny suit, or driving a
Cadillac. He doesn't have his
own television show with station
breaks and a tote board counting
the dough. He isn't promising
blessings with one more offering
from the deepest realms
of your pocket. He isn't telling
you that your farm will have more
crops if you would just send in
that check. He isn't shouting
fear from the pulpit, or wriggling
on the floor, out of control, with
his eyes rolled into the back
of his head. He isn't making you
kneel, then sit, then stand, then
kneel again over and over.
He doesn't believe you evolved
from a monkey or a pool
of embryonic goo struck
by lightning. He isn't dope
slapping anyone on the forehead,
or calling them out, or condemming
the sinner. He isn't saying the same
prayer day after day, year after year
without a thought. You won't find
a sacred image of him in the clouds
or in your morning pancakes, yes,
your Jesus might be different than
mine, but that's okay, there's room
for all of us, or so I hope.