Two poems and image above by Alan McGuire
Homeless Jesus
Why aren’t you inside,
being praised,
hanging from a cross,
watching them break bread in your name?
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.
Why did you sacrifice yourself
only to walk back into this world,
carrying its sins once more?
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Why do you lie here,
on a cold bench,
your wounds open to the frosty night?
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the Earth.
Are you not hungry for your Kingdom?
For the wicked to feel their shame?
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be satisfied.
Why let them enter your house,
unsightly,
swearing and spitting,
smoking where you would sleep?
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Why do they sin in your name
sword in one hand, gospel in the other?
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
If you are who you say you are,
why does the soil of your homeland
run red with suffering?
Why do you not stretch out your hand?
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called the sons of God.
Our brothers are hunted,
savaged the world over—
and you stay silent.
But some too, spit hate,
And cast out friends invited to your table.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.
Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you,
and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of Me.
We feel small,
We feel helpless—
What are we to do?
Rejoice and be glad,
because great is your reward in heaven,
for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
Please come in from the cold.
These people are waiting.
They will dress you in robes,
offer gold, silk, myrrh,
treat you as their king.
You say that I am a king.
In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world
is to testify to the truth.
Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.
Should I sit with you?
Work in your name?
Build temples and churches adorned with gold?
What will become of us now you are here?
But woe to you who are rich,
for you have already received your comfort.
Woe to you who are well fed now,
for you will go hungry.
Woe to you who laugh now,
for you will mourn and weep.
Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets.
Christ-Marx
(Adapted from Marx’s 1843 Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right)
Religious suffering
Is the expression of real suffering,
And a protest against it—
A cry from the depths of despair.
Religion is the sigh
Of the oppressed creature,
Living within conditions
Of strict rhyme and bitter meter.
The heart of a heartless world,
The soul of soulless conditions—
Capitalism steals your soul,
Then sells it back, cheaper than before.
It is the opium of the people,
A numbing solace when all else fails.
But to deliver the kingdom to the poor,
We need more than protest or palliative.
The abolition of religion—
Of illusory happiness—
Is to demand real joy,
A world no longer bound by chains.
To ask the people to give up
Delusions about their plight
Requires first we transform
The conditions that demand such dreams.
The critique of religion is
The critique of a vale of tears,
Of which religion is the halo—
A fragile glimmer in the dark.
