Meat the Word

Go on then, God.

Act it out

Put your money where your mouth is:

Incarnate yourself

You say that’s what you’re about

The Word fleshing out,

lifting Isaiah’s cries off the page

making them Matthew’s memoirs of Herod’s rage.


Well, that’s all very well way back when

Being Immanuel then is nice enough

But what’s that to do with me today?

I could really use a Messiah right now

Do you do house calls, Mr Soul Doctor?


OK, I wouldn’t call myself a cessationist, but


I don’t FEEL very spiritually keen

in this flabby, fatigue-ridden body with these dull-as-dishwater people I see

if that’s not too gnostic of me.

Moan, moan.

How can God be divine if he’s left me alone?

What? You want to use ME now? Well, fuck.

You refuse me my Xbox and fancy chocs and would have me give away

my second coat to Lady Muck

or perhaps my neighbour Lord Lazy of Skid Row?

Not likely, kiddo, I’ve earned those things.

And I deserve a little break from my hard work moaning, don’t I?

Someone’s got to tell everyone else they’re wrong. Right?


Come, Holy Spirit.