Monday, July 12

the Cross Politics...

I have often understood that politics in any form is nasty. Irrespective of region or religion, politics always comes with a dose of hatred, lies and backstabs. The public face of politics is often under a mask of smiles and, political handshakes always go with a cause.

The ruthless manner in which politics is conducted in the name of religion is far from the values that any religion teaches or believes. Many people seem to have understood this long ago.

For me, I too am a part of  church politics...a victor of church politics... a victim of church politics. Sometime ago, I was much surprised to read a poem of Tagore in this direction. It is indeed intriguing to understand that Tagore seems to have gone miles into Christians’ life and the Christ they uphold.  Reading it, I was humbled to understand that things haven’t much changed in the Church and the politics church has imbibed. Tagore’s poem titled ‘The Son of Man’ is worthy of every word it uses to describe nature of today’s system of Church and her followers.  It makes an excellent reading of church politics.

From HIS eternal seat Christ comes down to this earth,
 Where, ages ago, in the bitter cup of death
 He poured his deathless life for those who came to
the call and those who remained away.

He looks about Him, and sees the weapons of evil that
wounded His own age.

The arrogant spikes and spears, the slim, sly knives,
the scimitar in diplomatic sheath, crooked and cruel,
are hissing and raining sparks as they are
sharpened on monster wheels.

But they most fearful of them all, at the hands of the slaughters,
are those on which has been engraved His own name,
that are fashioned from the texts of His own words
fused in the fire of hatred and hammed in hypocritical greed.

He presses His had upon His heart; He feels that the
age-long moment of His death has not yet ended,
that new nails, turned out in countless numbers by
those who are learned in cunning craftsmanship,
pierce Him in every joint.

They had hurt Him once, standing at the shadows of
their temple; they are born anew in crowds.

From before their sacred altar they shout to the
soldiers, ‘Strike!’

And the Son of Man in agony cries, ‘My God, My God,
     why hast Thou forsaken  Me?”