What if I told you that I was Jesus?

Would I have your trust right from the start?

Or like last time, you’d never realize you messed up?

But what if I were?

Would I like what has become of the world?

Would I smile or shake my head as I felt the cold?

Shivering as your faith believes what religion has sold?

Would I have to prove to you by performing a miracle?

Or would you know by just my word?

What religion would I have to pretend to be?

Before any religious leader started to disregard me?

In a state of wonder, I know I’d stand confused,

By the way we seem to pick and choose,

One dreamer we applaud for his guts to stand alone,

While begrudging another for trying to make his dream come true?

What if Jesus was that man you looked at on the street?

Commenting that the city should do something about him,

So that you wouldn’t have to admit that you’ve lost your humanity,

Making me wonder, can you really afford not to show a little generosity?

Would Jesus go back and say that things were fine and well,

Or have to say that God’s children have learned how to create Hell?

All too busy trying to attain man’s desires,

As religions change the words of God they supposedly admire.

What would you say if I said I was Jesus?

And asked why it mattered that I was a certain religion?

Then told you I was just Jesus, the son of God,

Would I find myself on another cross?

If I asked why we don’t encourage individuality,

Would you say, “But we do!”  Knowing that you just lied to me?

Would you even be aware of what the consequences might be?

As another terminal disease is discovered to be growing at an alarming speed,

At the same time another senseless war kills the child that would have made it extinct.

Would I approve of the way we talk about humanity?

Then turn away not to do a dang thing we say,

As another family falls to the perils of our society,

The innocent eyes of children asking, “What’s to become of me?”

Would I forgive you for believing in what makes you feel better?

Even if it’s at the cost of your soul being lost forever,

Would you blame the man in the pulpit on Sunday?

Saying that he claimed to be speaking for me,

Even though his words never felt like God’s on each of those days.

So while religions earn funds in the millions,

And their flocks wonder how they’ll feed their children,

I have to ask why it would be so hard to believe that I was Jesus,

Since we seem to display a gullibility to believe anything that scares us?

Then with saddened eyes, I look to the heavens and ask,

“Is this the way, Father, you would act?”

@Bradley S. Hartman