"Faith is the Best of Companions"
At the tender age of eight, I was making regular trips to the aquarium touching pool to fondle the velvet lamina of the sea cucumber. I would stand there for hours, clutching its wet and pulpous innards. As an advanced aquarist and a devoted Christian, I recalled that Jesus was a Jew and was circumcised, and that His foreskin must be immortal and still live among us, disguised as a sea cucumber.
To His own bower the king had brought me;
on His embrace, more ravishing than wine, my thoughts did linger.
I’d always been a Catholic in my aesthetics.
My first erotic experience was seeing Jesus on the cross,
groping the holy foreskin
ingratiating myself into His fold
the folds of that loincloth.
Every good Bible-believing Christian must know that Christ was all-God and all-man (which is an impressive 200% being) and that He is "one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are.” It is orthodox belief, then, that Christ had a penis, which was at least once, erect.
In the Eucharist and in ecstasy, a male Christ was handled and loved.
Portrayed as a carpenter, His ripped abs transcend time
the spikes of His coronet like the blades of a rotary mower
hair like a flock of goats descending from Gilead
teeth like a flock of sheep coming up from the washing
his body a loaf of doughy bread, His prophecy an ejaculation.
My desire to know Him – immanent and embodied,
my passion, the passion of the devoted soul
my longing for the courts of the Lord:
“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is God.”
The elderly women at church say
when Christ comes
we must be on our knees.
Then let His torso tower above me like the Tower of David
let His nose be like the Tower of Lebanon looking towards Damascus
let His youth be like a gazelle on the spice-laden mountains
Christ! Let me wander in His wilderness for 40 years.
Let His navel be a rounded goblet that never lacks wine
let His waist be a mound of wheat encircled by lilies
let His heat be the holy spirit
burning inside of him!
With what rapture, rapture, rapture,
will I gaze upon the glorious scars that body bears
With what exultation will I behold his descent from the clouds:
with every step
as he reveals