a poem by Jude Simpson:
Jesus doesn’t have a Myspace page.
He doesn’t sit at his personal computer
for hours
making lists
of his favourite lists.
Jesus doesn’t have a Myspace page.
He hasn’t composed a profile
which sums him up in fifty excruciatingly well-chosen words,
making him sound like God’s gift.
Jesus doesn’t have a Myspace page.
and he doesn’t get worked up
at how both Mel Gibson and Tom Cruise
both list him as their number one friend
in the world ever,
or that they schmooze him daily
by email
to try and get him to make them his
number one friend in the world ever
in return.
Jesus isn’t even particularly bothered
that both Madonna and Michael Jackson
have already appropriated “the Messiah” as their MySpace i.d.
Jesus doesn’t have to prove himself electronically.
He doesn’t have a funky alias.
like sinforgiver or waterwalkingdude.
He hasn’t listed his interests
as home brewing,
complementary medicine, and
extreme fishing.
Jesus won’t email you every week
with a “hilarious” new photo
of him wearing a funny outfit,
or a video of his pet goldfish doing synchronised swimming across the sea of Galilee.
Jesus is not the sort of friend who instant-messages you
twice a year to say, “hey we should meet up some time!”
Jesus didn’t employ an army of A&R men to
use his Myspace page to
broadcast clips of him preaching in his basement
and then write stories of how he went from no-one to world fame in
three short years.
Jesus claims to be only two steps away from Kevin Bacon,
but no-one’s ever seen him prove it.
Jesus doesn’t have a Myspace page.
and Jesus isn’t owned by Rupert Murdoch
thank God.
Jesus knows that you’ve never read the whole of Catch 22
even though it’s listed as one of your favourite books,
and do you know what? He doesn’t care.
If you look for Jesus on MySpace,
Jesus isn’t there,
because Jesus doesn’t have a MySpace page,
even though it’s fast, fun and easy.
Jesus shut down his p.c. before p.c.s were invented
and he put on his sandals, with or without socks,
and he walked to your door, and sat by your heart,
and invited you to be his friend.
That was like, 2,000 years ago –
and he still hasn’t had a reply.
He’s probably standing at your door right now
while you’re sat staring at your screen,
listening to the tune on somebody’s MySpace
and making them your two thousandth friend.
from here
)