A cuckoo in the holy nest,
can I admit to what I see?
A Jesus who is rough and hard,
a normal bloke like you and me,
a Jesus who could moan a bit,
a Jesus who could weep and sigh,
a Jesus who could laugh and joke,
a Jesus who could bleed and die.

Oh sometimes, yes, he’s meek and mild,
but never when he ought to be;
forever giving disrespect
to leaders like that Pharisee.
And yet that name, ‘how sweet the sound’,
masks who he was and gives us pause
to sanctify humanity,
to take away all human flaws.

And what is left for us to praise?
Emasculated God lies dead,
right there beside a human corpse,
was it, I wonder, what I said?
Perhaps I ought to trust the lie
that if I doubt my God is dead?
But faith is possibility:
that hope is latent in my head!
© Andrew Pratt 18/3/2012
Inspired by Sydney Carter’s Rock of Doubt chap 3