Pleasing Christ

Some decades after Jesus’ death, when men began to write
The things that only they would want believed,
They organized religion and they gave themselves such might
That God could only be from them received.
Such time had past, the memories of Jesus were a blur,
But stories of the man were still around.
And scriptures could be used to tell the way things must occur,
So Jesus in the scriptures could be found.
There was an awesome tension- for the man had really lived-
So scriptures used inventing him again
Came up against the memory of those who were forgived
By he who truly walked the world of men.
Authority would win the day and centuries to pass-
But there were clues long buried in that book.
And there would come a day when it’s no longer under glass
And women too could take a second look.
The man made such a difference; lives were changed when love was shared.
Compassion was the magic of this man.
Outside the aberration of a son who was not spared
Was love lived out as anybody can.
I feel compelled as anything to try to please this Christ,
By seeking out this Jesus as he was.
Not some unearthly figure who was cruelly sacrificed,
For that is not the sort of thing love does.
Does one please Christ by falling for the system of control
The selfish patriarchs have put in place?
Or looking for a Nazarene who let love be his role,
By finding love must wear a human face?
He died two thousand years ago; he did not die for me.
He satisfied no vengeance from above.
He died because no system would prevent his being free
From anything that tried to stifle love.
I give him my allegiance and I proudly wear his name,
What matters is to do the things he said.
The power is in watching him and living life the same,
So sorry that his blood was ever shed.

John H. Bidwell