He looked for Christ
in the stone cathedrals
And in the high walls of
seminaries
He looked but found only
The vanity of pompous
rituals
And the measured
dichotomy of faith
And polity

He looked for Christ
In the makeshift shelters of
displaced squatters
And in the rain soaked
hovels amidst muddy fields
And in silence found
the shared fellowship
stronger than a thousand
rosary
And partake in the
life-giving warmth of true
solidarity

In time, he sought Christ
not in the Sunday masses
with the crowd in their
finest Sunday clothes,
not in the august charity
functions and televised
theological discussions
with their heavy purses
and intellectual opinions
but in the dimly lighted
factories stinking of sweat
and vomit,
in the solemn conversation
of a family over boiled rice
and dried dish, of their daily struggles
and fervent hopes

He found Christ

where systemic injustice
deprived farmers of land
and security,
where routine suppression
muted the cries of the
prophets in shallow graves
where blatant exploitation
left workers without rights
and dignity,
where constant deception
made the young confused
and indifferent,
where institutionalized
harassment left women
bare and barren

He found Christ

In the friendship and care
of the impoverished
masses
In the selfless sacrifices of
the battle-hardened cadres
Yes,
He found Christ
in the bosom of a revolution
nurtured by the masses
in the vast engulfing
forests

By: Obladz
from the Christians for National Liberation