old christmas poem--the jesus doll

 this is maybe 5 years old, the poem i wrote when i first went to a christmas concert at the church nearby . its real title is 'knuffel jesus' b/c the dutch word for plush toy is so much nicer than ours.  it isn't the official christmas-card-poem this year--that i've already posted.  but for anyone who liked the prose piece i posted a a few days ago, you might like this; it was the card-poem 4 or 5 years ago....

[THE JESUS DOLL]

Tucked in a side pew corner

Jesus watches me walk by.

I glare and walk past him: I’m here

for a concert, not a service,

And the first snow is weeks away;

Autumn’s not about Jesus.

But his eyes pull me back

and where else can I sit, but with the Jesus doll?

My evening’s turned into a blind date with God.

But who ever heard of a ragdoll Jesus?

He doesn’t even make sense.  He’s soft and small, like

baby Jesus, Christmas Jesus—the size

for cuddling.  Lullaby size.

But his face is Easter Jesus,

knitted hair falling over sad eyes.

 cardboard sandals on his feet,

Like he’s planning to walk through deserts.

So which are you, little ragdoll?

I whisper.  Like he’ll answer. I glare at him.

Then the music surrounds us; the concert’s begun,

 And we listen. Together. Enthralled.

Oh,  and I want to hug him, through the mightied music!

But which Jesus is he?  You don’t

cuddle Easter Jesus.  Easter Jesus

dies for your sins.

He bleeds in your soul and stains it.

Christmas Jesus gurgles, smiles, reaches to be held.

The concert ends, the baritone bows.  Hands

Sting with praise.  People

Get up to leave.  I get up to leave.  Jesus  stays put.

Will you be here when I come back, Jesus doll? Holding the whole

Ache of humankind

The span of birth through death,

 The newborn winter, the dying spring?

Will you wait, patient, on your wooden bench,

Wood of cradle, wood of cross,

For the next song, the next prayer,

The next slight stagger toward redemption?