They forge a Christ where lines of hate divide,
Wrapped in the flag, where borders coincide
With holy ground, demanding fealty sworn
To earthly power, since the day He’s born
Again, they claim, in halls where eagles scream,
And scripture twists to fit a patriot dream.

His crown, a helmet; and His cross, a sword;
His love reserved for those who speak the word
In sanctioned tongues, who pledge the same salute,
Whose skin reflects the chosen, absolute.
He preaches strength, dominion, righteous might,
And casts long shadows, banishing the light
From other faces, other gods, other lands,
With judgment clenched in unforgiving hands.
He builds the walls, He ratifies the ban,
This Christ of Caesar, not the Son of Man.

But memory stirs a different Galilee,
A sun-baked teacher by a wind-whipped sea.
No temple gold, no legions at His call,
Just dusty feet and Love embracing all.
His words, like seeds, on rocky ground were sown,
Of mercy vast, a kingdom overthrown
Not by the sword, but by a yielded heart,
A mystical embrace, a work of art
Where God is found in breath, in bread, in wine,
A whispered presence, immanent, divine.
He touched the leper, ate with those reviled,
The prostitute, the tax man, reconciled.
He spoke of lilies, sparrows in their flight,
Found holiness in vulnerability, not might.
His Love, a current, boundaryless and deep,
Secrets the mystics learned, and learned to keep
Alive within the quiet, inner room,
Dispelling judgment, piercing through the gloom.

And where is He today, this gentle Lord,
So sought in symbols, yet so oft ignored?
Look not atop the platform, slick and loud,
Among the chants of the exclusive crowd.
Find Him instead where borders scar the earth,
In hungry eyes that question human worth.
He waits within the overcrowded cell,
His whisper heard where lonely prisoners dwell.
He is the refugee upon the raft,
The child deported, future torn and chaffed.
He is the stranger with the foreign tongue,
On whose behalf no anthem has been sung.
He wears the face of those they push aside,
The very souls where Love is crucified
Anew by fear, by laws that build up hate.
He stands among them, knocking at the gate
They’ve locked against Him, in their zealous pride.

The irony unfolds, stark, deep, and wide:
They hunt for Him in power and acclaim,
While He resides within the branded name,
The marginalized, the broken, and the least.
He shares the crust of their rejected feast.
The Christ of Love, still walking hidden ways,
Embodied in the lives their laws erase.
And those who claim His banner, loud and strong,
May find they barred the very One, all along.