Matt Mason

The Good News

From Things We Don’t Know We Don’t Know. Backwaters Press, 2006.

Tell the good news about Jesus
—a bumper sticker I followed for a long time

Jesus lent me ten bucks when I forgot my wallet at lunch.
Sure, he could’ve ordered a chicken pesto sandwich and broke it into two full meals, but he’s no showoff. That’s what I like about Jesus.

Jesus listens to cool music. If it weren’t for Jesus,
I never would have known about Tom Waits
or Ani DiFranco, and I sure wouldn’t own any Lyle Lovett CDs. But Jesus makes a kickass mix tape.

Jesus loves cows,
thinks my poems with cows in them are a hoot and encourages me
to look at herds of white cows in a green field
and imagine salvation
is underneath each windmill.

Jesus tells me Pat Robertson’s right, and so is Al Sharpton.
That they’re both wrong, too, but that’s not the point.
His point is how God is sewn into every fabric. Even yourself. Even Elvis.

Jesus saves and Jesus recycles.

Jesus eats fish for more than Omega-3 fatty acids,
drinks red wine for more reasons than his sacred heart.

Jesus doesn’t dress like the Medieval paintings with the gold hats and the Mr. T rosaries.
Sure, he can clean up nice, but Jesus likes blue jeans. Jesus makes a killer chianti, but he refuses to turn water into Diet Coke for me.
“What’s the difference?” he asks.

Jesus pisses me off with his honesty sometimes.
But it’s not like he’s ever wrong.

Jesus acts real serious
when somebody rushes up to him hollering, “Jesus, take me up to Heaven,
I will see you in the Kingdom, Jesus!”
Jesus says they should get their kumbayayas off by putting on some overalls
and hammering in the morning: may as well make Heaven bigger, not just your ego.

Jesus digs the “How does Jesus eat M&M’s” joke.
He won’t do it at a party, but he did do it once
when just the two of us were watching cartoons.

Jesus wanted me to tell you he loves you.
Jesus also wants you to stop doing that thing.

Jesus tells me I’m saved.
Then he laughs real loud.
I hate it when Jesus does that.

Poem copyright Matt Mason, used here with permission.