Christians from Outer Space
Did the Mangod, Jesus, only visit
this bluish and rock-strewn planet alone?
Was His life, symbolic or explicit,
exclusive to these mortals and their own?
‘Tis vain to presume that we primates,
homo sapiens, here on this third orb,
were solely entrusted with transcendent fates,
the divine truth ours alone to absorb.
Imagine, then, that of myriad Earths,
ours hosted just an instant of His grace,
where despite the Christ’s immaculate birth
He was treated ill by our fickle race.
Step under the starry dome of our sky
and ponder Saviors at each point on high.
In Virgo, there’s a terrestrial globe
Where the Kabballax profess deference
to a God virgin-spawned by divine probe,
perfect from any frame of reference.
There, the Incarnate was duly installed
by rite of proboscis circumcision,
leader of the Council, its members called
to spread an ecumenical vision,
espoused through prophecies and miracles
persuasive enough to arrest all doubt,
proving true faith through valid oracles
and peace that no creature need live without.
Thus, this deity duly presided
over a world where goodwill resided.
Did the All-Loving Godhead then finish?
Nay, next She augured on a satellite
orbiting a gas giant in Canis,
where Her mission became a wretched plight.
Inhabited by Ologists, the minds
of this world dismissed Her revelation,
for prejudice and dogma always blinds
and base comfort is enough salvation.
So, upon bare, blistered and bleeding feet
She wandered alone across harsh terrain,
unheard, bent under the weight of defeat
only wind-driven dust to hear Her pain.
Another prophet with no following,
pursued only by her own shadowing.
Preach – through whatever open orifice,
in sonorous echoes or voiceless song,
snorts or sonar to the rapt populace,
by any means understood by the throng.
Pray – raising clenched fists, in brow-twisting thought,
while babbling glossolaliac nonsense
that belief dictates must be so if sought
by invoking a god in present tense.
Profess – declare faith, bear eager witness
to revealed doctrine or such sure dogma
told by priest, soothsayer, or pythoness
bearing soul-to-flesh soldered stigmata.
What’s sensed by spirit becomes ritual
when reduced to memes and made scriptural.
Whither next will the Omniscient traverse
to inspire more novel epiphanies?
Whether mocked and abused, or praised in verse,
each virgin birth brings hopes and infamies.
Perchance the transcendent wandering Word
shall sojourn with Dharma in Orion,
whose cults expect an amiable Lord
smiling behind the aqua horizon.
So, somewhere, an improved Christ may appear,
for better aliens with free will to choose
whether It reveals a truth to revere,
or spews blasphemy to scorn and refuse.
Any god can be lauded or denied,
and thus adored, ignored, or crucified.
Amen.
​
​