MY JESUS AIN’T YOUR JESUS By Daniel Fan
My Jesus ain’t your Jesus.
My Jesus was born in an alley. The hotels, they had empty rooms but they told his family “No Vacancy.”
When the wise men celebrated they brought food stamps plastic flowers cheese.
When the authorities heard, they came too– the INS The cops the social workers– To take him away.
My Jesus, he rides on a bus through the projects walks a mile through the sand to school works at the 7-11 till midnight.
When you and your Jesus hang out you’re a youth group. When me and my Jesus hang out we’re a street gang.
My Jesus didn’t just send packages to the poor. He didn’t just serve in soup kitchens on Christmas Eve. He was there every day till they took him away . . .
thick accent dark skin slanted eyes kinky hair . . .
My Jesus is black Yellow red and brown.
Got room in your heart for my Jesus.