For You
by Mitali Perkins, reprinted with kind permission of the author
for you,
whose Hand made salty water swell
and burst upon the sand, shaping mountains into shells,
here is the hand that slapped you.
how dusty, clumsy, weak
this hand, twisting thorns into a crown for you,
whose Head imagined panther, peacock, pomegranate,
here is the head that screamed with rage
when Pilate brought you forth.
how frail and dull
this skull, these eyes, this mouth of spit for you,
whose Face set like flint to see
my fist
my sneer
the crooked iron sharpness of this heart
for you.
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Jesus, we can never thank You enough.
“But surely there was an historical Jesus,
Who walked on the earth, and who died on a cross—
He might have been God, or he might be a prophet,
Whoever he was… what a horrible loss!”
Well, honestly, no. I have heard all the stories,
The claims that the evidence can’t be denied—
But the jury’s still out; there’s no verdict I’ll swear to,
I don’t know he lived, and much less, how he died.
But frankly, the question is really much simpler
Than if there’s a Jesus in whom I believe—
The purpose of Christ is irrelevant, really,
Unless there’s a literal Adam and Eve.
If Eden is only a fable or parable,
Not how the life on our planet begins,
If Adam and Eve are not literal people,
No Jesus is needed to die for our sins.
And here, there’s an answer; there wasn’t an Eden
There wasn’t an apple, there wasn’t The Fall
Original Sin is a fictional concept
So Jesus was never required at all.
So, go ahead—argue that Jesus existed;
Muster your evidence; make me aware—
His reason for being was falsely constructed,
So… “Was there a Jesus?” I really don’t care.
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