The Naming of the Child
If Jesus had been born this festive tide,
Would he have been a she?
A learned, informed re-entry plan, configured.
Two thousand years of preacherly prophets telling humanity its fortune, mission finally aborted.
Not that they were always right or we had time to listen.
New policy implemented.
Would she have been birthed in a Syrian refugee camp?
Be living rough with migrants, Calais side?
If she had been chosen now for celestial touchdown,
would she land on a space station and hitch a ride,
To gain maximum coverage,
freaking social media on a solar landslide?
As ludicrous as it sounds,
So it was,
The story incredible of a baby, Heaven-sent.
Sentimental, misguided, irrational, untrue?
The story persists;
incarnate baby-shaped stuff
which symbolises a dream,
a living out that screams ‘Freedom!’
A frightening concept for the many,
A rally call for the few.
Today she would be called Jessica, Emily, Sita or Ah Lam.
Her naming wouldn’t be bought by gifts to the Temple priest,
but validated with a party,
photos on Instagram, Mum’s blog shared in tweets.
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