Immanuel the Iconoclast

A baby, a baby, nursing on bathwater,

invigorated thus by the shadowy plotter.

“Toss the water” is the common encouragement,

from eyes that are blind to its nature of nourishment.

Thus is the advice offered by clones,

whose own baby long ago dwindled to bones.

The chaff must be separated from the wheat,

but dare we say this baby “is what it eats”?

No matter how badly or oft the water is soiled,

the baby never becomes the culprit embroiled.

That baby unwillingly, on a pedestal is stood,

while a voice beyond the tub asks, “Why call me good?”

“Because I like your form, outward homage I pay.

Saying ‘Lord, Lord!’ is more convenient than doing what you say”.

So flowery indeed the fruit of the lips,

but better is an idol you bring into grips.

This baby was born to show us the living way,

not to form a religion fostering stagnant decay.

Baby sit still, don’t you exit so soon!

“Are you kidding?”, he said, “I look like a prune!”

So, baby and bathwater I pitched out the door,

as baby likes it, at home with the poor.

Baby is seen now in unlikely places (can tell by his height),

he looks a bit dirty, but his eyes are still bright.

Baby is also recognized by certain kickings of the heart.

From selfishness, some cramped inner legs, are seeking to depart.

“Why say ‘inner kickings’ after saying you kicked baby out?”

Well… a loved thing set free, seems to gain mysterious clout.

Nevertheless, I often wonder if I did the right thing

(as this manner of acting comes with a sting).

But deep down I know even this feeling is no loss,

but a sweetness hidden in the form of a cross.

“God With Us” isn’t proven by the mountains of doctrine compiled,

but by the sea of bitterness giving birth to a miraculous child.