The Entrance of Christ in a jalopy

What if Christ was alive in the 21st Century?

The Entrance of Christ in a jalopy

Let him come.

Not in imperious-pressed street preacher suit,

gleaming-black soles, greased hair combed back,

smile a dazzling white

but in prosaic scraps blunted by the sun and heat,

threadbare sandals, long untamed hair

and teeth baring witness

to a meager diet, eaten in the fellowship of brothers,

sisters, kinsmen and converted followers.


Pray thee, let him come driving not

a fantastic Farrari roaring to

announce his arrival, but an

inconspicuous jalopy – a pack car –

lowest in name yet highest in service.

If there is some ticker-tape procession,

let it be. Let the way be cleared for

the arrival of the people’s king.


Along the way the people will praise his name

while false teachers, political leaders, bankers, celebrities and academics

denounce him as a heretic, a terrorist, a strange phenomenon steering away

from the social mainstream.

They will deem it moral and right for an arraignment before his demise.


All the while, this isolato will escape the adulation unscathed and unchanged,

driving on to those whom society in contempt left behind:

The ghettos, slums, fringe communities of outcasts;

the prostitutes, addicts, paraplegics, psychiatrics,

 all those who are lost and hungry for the truth,

he will find and until his appointed departure time,

heal them, save them, satisfy their yearning,

showing them the deepest love one will ever know.

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