They think they gotta make it up
so, make it up, they do
They 'make' You be as small as they
so they can "count" toward You.
They don't see how He paid our sins,
With zero "works", yet Infinitely,
They don't see how His Thinking wins
Eternal Life, indefinitely.
They gotta 'make' You in their sight,
So blindly 'shrink' You to their size,
They gotta 'make' You 'want' their "right",
To justify them in their eyes.
So "God" must be a masochist,
Or macho, petty, tyrant-fist,
Or wimpy, gimpy, gradualist,
A sugar-daddy, Christmas list;
Or, anything but You.
The Gift of Christ is way too high,
Too easy, simple, "Western" (sigh),
Or "limited" so men may buy
The Gift, like day-old bakery rye;
Or, anything but True.
Your Righteousness they will not grasp,
The Gifted Stone's too much to lift,
Your Love is like some biting asp
To them who would cut You adrift.
A child believes You, without qualm
Yet when he 'grows up', will demur?
What child fears Salvation's Balm
Which adults treat as cur?
When we grow up, You must 'grow' down,
When we get big, You must 'get' small,
We "adults" need to 'shrink' You, see,
To make us feel intelligently,
To make our world one we control,
To make our "good" a happy shoal,
To scapegoat You for every fall,
To make You but a circus clown.
We fantasize "belief" has strings,
so "mental assent" can't be 'right',
We say some work or penance brings
Salvation to completed Light.
We say His Cross THEN's just some Root!
Some deed we do NOW cancels "THEN",
We say belief must show some "fruit",
As if OUR view of "fruit", weren't fen.
We look at others sins and drool,
We cudgel them "in love", Your Name,
We argue, rant, bemoan, e'er cruel,
A Shrunken God we gift with Fame.
We think we gotta make it up
so, make it up, we do,
You're children's fables, Santa Claus
So we are Big, not You.