Seven Nativities
I. Madonna with Child
When she
looks into his little eyes
She sees
the face of the accuser,
The face of
her pain, rejection, judgement, and her abuser,
But when he
smiles she also sees
The loving
face of God.
II. Christus Victor
What child
is this descending from his billowing starship?
The Conquistador from across the sea,
An alien
white face on a white horse
Bearing
plague, spitting fire
He descends
on the land
The people
perish,
Face of a Roman father
Spreading
terror
And then
communion.
And
eventually siring the divine mestiza.
III. Incarnation
The first
time she looked down at him,
She cried,
when she saw his alien eyes.
Family said
“Get rid of it,”
Saw in him
only problem, disgrace, and pain,
Medical
bills and defect,
She
wandered in the mystery,
What’s
wrong with him?
What’s
wrong with me?
We struggle
to understand
The
divinity in imperfection.
IV. The Annunciation
He came
into a virgin womb;
She cried
and tried to smile
And mask
her shame.
Full of
love and full of grace,
If they could
only see her,
The
divinity beyond her sexuality.
But like
Augustine, they use her
Then
discard her as vice and temptress.
V. Nativity
They call
themselves the native sons,
The
colonizer aliens,
Of course,
there were earlier migrations.
To keep America
great
We must
keep out all Palestinians.
Here on the
reservation or refugee camp, a baby is born
To be taken
from its parents to be saved
At a
boarding school, or in a foster family.
Son of God
and son of man.
He will be
crucified between the margins
Of the
crossed staves of
Poverty and
racist exclusion
But no one
is listening, there is no one to hear his
“I am
finished.”
And thus,
we lose our salvation.
VI. Immanuel
Jesus came
to the US fleeing the Maras:
A Honduran
wholesale murder of the innocents
Subsidized
by the Empire’s glut for drugs and gangster presidents.
His
F/father worked in construction.
Joseph and
Mary were unable to get documents,
Deported
twice, they then sent Jesus ahead:
Cages were
prepared, then shelters,
But the
locals said “not in our town”
And shut
them down.
Too old for
DACA, and born abroad,
He was
unable to study officially, but learned
Drywall and
Bible from his uncle.
One Sunday he walked up to the pulpit,
Started
preaching, the deacons called security,
Asked for
credentials, the cops got involved.
We deported
God,
And his
body lies in the shape of a cross
On the corner
of a San Pedro Sula street.
VII. Orphaned God
We left you
on the street
We left you
in the system
We left you
in the refugee camp
We left you
at the border,
We left
you, Imago Dei.
We searched
far and wide for our saviour complex:
South
Korea, Guatemala, Ethiopia, Kyrgyzstan,
We paid the bribes for an exotic baby
That fit
our narrative.
But you,
God, were too old.
You were
too scarred.
Your nose
was too big,
Your
opinions, trauma, and defects too strong.
It didn’t
seem like you would fit into our family.
So we
offered you our bribes and tithes,
We built
orphanages and group homes and juvenile facilities…
No
nearer, please.
As innkeepers, we put you in the stable
Receiving
God as animal,
For the
Word to become flesh,
To keep it
alive,
We must
invite it to dwell among us
In homes
and hearts.
*****
James Metelak is a poet, activist, singer-songwriter, and photographer currently based in Colorado. His 2 books of poetry are available on Amazon Kindle, his music is available on Bandcamp, and his photography is on Instagram.
