They say that Jesus was a Jew,
And not Gentile like me and you.
His accent wouldn’t be Hoosier,*
But Galilean with a slur.
He may have burped—-though none have said;
but country folk are not well bred.
Rough hands and worker’s grime
-—he took no offense and thought no crime.
He wasn’t known for genteel looks,
The kind you see in all the books.
Every hair of his sometimes left its place,
The winds of Galilee blew strong on his face.
Yet he was neat—-those grave clothes say.
That folded headcloth on Easter Day!
What mattered least—-he gave it care—-
He wouldn't leave it untidy THAT GREAT DAY!
Try OCEAN on for size.
It’s wild and throws its sand in eyes.
Majestic too—-the sweep of waves—-
Its changing mood destroys or saves.
Sail it now, but it can drown
And smash your house right to the ground.
Jesus loves the little child,
His mood can be so gentle, mild.
But he who made the ocean too
Can turn and rage, like billows do.**
You just can’t put Him in your box—-
Or stroke Him like you treat pet rocks.
Yes, Jesus is God and also Jew—-
Climb that mountain to get the view!***
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