Old clothes

 I often wear

I often wear old Christian clothes

Although my God has changed

The dress is familiar and homely

I’m reluctant to abandon

All the habits of the years

No simple pun intended.  

I still love the hymns from the choirs

In ancient Cathedrals with tall spires  

The Gregorian chant lifts my spirit

Regardless of what all the words mean

The Latin allows the mind wander

To discover God at our own pace. 

Christ for me was a prophet

Showing every man a way 

Not founding another religion

Judaism was fine for his day. 

Shortening the road to the Father

Cutting out red tape and the waffle 

Two thousand years are not all wasted

Though clearly the car left the road

On various bends and in various places 

The Inquisition, the conquista and church princes. 

I can’t imagine Christ with a white hat

Or wearing red shoes with red socks

Offering a ring seems offending

His humility so true and appealing 

Walking with joy in brown sandals 

Roads with no concept of Rome. 

Up to Jerusalem he ambled 

Sensing some trouble ahead 

While no politician

He wasn’t a fool and knew 

The powers that be

Had it in for him. 

Two thousand years later

And sometimes no different

The good work still done by the lowly. 

Power is still clasped in the center

By men who have neither changed nor remembered

In halls where Christ threw over tables 

Managed by offspring unforgiving 

The loss of earnings that morning.    

Despite that a light burns 

In every church in the wide land

In memory of him who still 

Rules their hearts and their wills

With his teachings and words 

Strongest when simple 

When left to their own devices. 

The words that form in the desert

Warmer than words of a preacher  

The Christ they want to constrict 

Is stronger when simply set free

To walk in brown dusty sandals  

The spring fields of old Galilee.