Trying...

Hi there,

Ok so here is the deal... I feel a little bit bad saying it but during class it is often difficult to pay attention here. Extremely difficult. Two and a half lectures are a bit long, so forgive me, I have tried to occupy my mind in other ways. Lately I have started writing poetry. I figure, hey I like words, maybe I should mess around with some. So I have started writing poetry... and I have decided to post the one that I wrote today during class and let those who love me tell me if I should keep pursuing this new little hobby or tell me graciously to pick another thing to dabble in J

here it goes... it is a little intense, so I apologize for the complete lack of Dr. Seuss in this poem. Let me know what you think about the subject matter or how I can improve!!

~The Least Of These~

Jesus Christ with his saddened face

The kind of sorrow you cannot erase.

Mercy, he asks for with his pleading eyes.

Spare change; a meal; at least don’t despise.

His breath smells of alcohol and rancid decay.

You are offended; he is different than you, look away.

He has a story, but you are far too busy to sit and hear it.

Others might see you with this man who smells of shit.

Do you think his poverty, vulgarity, and addictions will rub off?

Hand him back his humanity. His hand, like yours, is soft.

 

Jesus Christ, lipstick smeared on his face,

The kind of humiliation you cannot erase.

Looking for work, she walks the streets.

You scowl, judging her with the rest of the whores and cheats.

She approaches you, sadness and shame, masked by a flirt.

Stumbling, you try to avert your eyes from the low-cut shirt.

Desperation fills her eyes; you wonder why she does this.

You don’t ask or try to help, instead go in for a kiss.

He is this young woman, who used to laugh and play.

Now you and the Enemy have told her this the only way.

 

Jesus Christ, lip sores on his face,

The kind of virus you cannot erase.

He walks alone, his partner has already died.

His family has neglected him, no comfort when cries.

Outcast. Hated, despised because of his lifestyle.

You think God doesn’t love him, is not with him every mile?

His body is shutting down, taken by the disease.

Your condemnation, self-righteousness, breaks him to his knees.

Lift him up, love him, he is your brother.

Hurting and scared, wipe away his tears as he shutters.

 

Jesus Christ, with his gaunt and desperate face,

The kind of hopelessness you cannot erase.

She steals from her family to get more money.

She is numb to life, atrocities become funny.

All her efforts are working for that next hit.

Withdrawals are imminent; her body needs it.

What makes life so hard that she tries to escape?

Parents separated, failed out of school, gang raped.

Someone needs to help her fight; she is not a lost case.

Hold her as she shakes, vomits, swears; kiss her face.

 

Jesus Christ, with his many faces,

The kind of companion you cannot erase.

Of his gospel, you are not ashamed?

You, who turn from the hurt, the broken, the maimed?

You do not love him more than yourself.

You keep him in a pretty box, wrapped up, on a shelf.

You call yourself a Christian, but forget how Christ walked.

You stand at the cross, with the rest who laughed and mocked.

Jesus Christ is the ultimate lover, servant on His knees.

In order to love Christ, love The Least of These.

So thats it! I'd love your input. This idea is something I have really felt challenged by and I feel the Lord is really teaching me a lot. I often forget that we are not loving Christ if we are not loving those who are harder or less glamorous to love. It is definitely easier said then done, and I know myself and I am a terrible lover if it is not coming from the Lord, but perfect love is definitely something I want to strive for and I want to characterize my life. It has hit me that if I say that I love Jesus, I am lying if I don't love those who are the last to be loved.