Danced on the Cross

This one screen shot inspired the title of the poem.
The video is a must see.

He danced on the cross
To the rhythm of the morbid
A macabre scene of celebration
We praise and rejoice to the gore
Of blood poured out for others
Human sacrifice
Just and right
Because He is God,
He can take it.

High, on top Incan pinnacles
Of the faithful to death
We called savages
Barbarians defined
By the practice of their hope
An after life.
They understood what it took.
What was necessary?
To appease god, God,
A sacrifice of blood
Over the table.
Pure and clean
As a baby’s heart.
An innocent deity’s heart.

She danced on the cross
Twirling, or was it twitching
Convulsing in the pain of loss
The shouts of hosanna ceasing
But even those who believed him
Quieted down,
Who would celebrate death?
Who in their right mind?
Jerking in excitement
Shaken earth underneath their feet.
Who would smile?
Cries of vic-
There was no time
There was no place,
Not then, and why now?

I danced on the cross
His body was not there
Just the promise of return in glory
I danced on the cross
For my benefit, not His
I dared to dance on the cross
And feasted,
Patting myself on the back
for my luck.
Lucky Me!
And I dared to dance and define His death
And his dying
I danced and I pranced
And I dared to call myself apostle.
And I danced and I rejoiced
For the brethren who along with me felt as lucky as can be
And I danced I proclaimed to be
“Anointed to preach the good news to the poor”
Though my good news are just words
printed on cheap newsprint paper
Though my good news are accompanied
by raised hands that are empty
while my pocket and my car
and my 3 bedroom kingdom
keeps me enslaved 9 to 5.
Yet I dance!

I danced on the cross
That not only belongs to me
Belongs to me
Not at all
So dared I dance and raise barb wires
So that you don’t dare to dance
In the space I have decreed just for me.
Because I am holy.
Because I am a chosen saint.
Because I dare not to show wide open
What sin I hide from my own face.

I danced on the cross with joy
There where He laid for the world.

The Hijab and the Cross

This post is an interpretive work of a cross-cultural experience, it is not meant to make educational or religious statements to be considered right or wrong.  Rather meaningful interactions are to raise questions about ourselves, challenge us, and change us for the better.  The manipulated images are not intended to belittle or offend anyone of either Muslim or Christian religion, rather it is an interpretive work in it self of the questions the poem raises.  It is my intention however, to help promote a more positive image of Islam and Muslim women in general in the Unites States of America and challenge our traditional views on evangelism and the sometimes oppressive ways we treat each other.  There is so much more we need to learn. 

With love, Tere.

Art by Kenneth Post, 2013
She is beautiful…
All I could see was her eyes
Her smile
The structure of her cheeks
The dance of fabric
Moving to her rhythm
She is alive!
Pins glitter
Jewels dangle
A flower planted
In a prairie of patterns
That match her sandals
And the polish on her nails.
She is more than fashion
She is more, not just flesh.
I looked from the most western part of my own existence
I vowed to voice injustice in her name
A prayer for her freedom
I prayed for us to be the same
Equal and powerful
Hair free to be blown in the air…
Choice and free will.
She is free when she covers
She is free when she bows
She is she when she worships
The God that showed her how,
To live,
To be in existence
in peace.
Her truth
Her way
Searching and fighting
To be better free
in her own faith,
in her own terms…
I wore her hijab
Not by choice
Not with honor
Rather annoyed
I wore her hijab
And it meant nothing
I was hot and itchy
I could not wait to get it off
Of me…
I was still a western woman under those garments,
I could never know what it means to her,
To be her
I carry a cross
And live it up to be
The burden that keeps me grounded
Focused in worship
And free.
My cross, her hijab
Her and me
If I imposed my cross on her
Would she feel just as uncomfortable?
As in her hijab I did?
She chose her cross in her hijab
I chose my hijab in my cross
May God show us both mercy
May God show us both
No condition
Just love.
May God help us find God
In each other…
© Teresita Matos, 2/26/13