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.
