Orange County Jesus (OCJ)


This poem about some of the things I’ve been observing within Christian subculture in Orange County. It addresses materialism and superficiality as a whole. It’s not meant to target any persons in particular, only to bring awareness to cultural overindulgence and spiritual apathy.


Orange County Jesus

Is Christians pretending

In a land that thirsts for the real.

If we could only see past

Sparkling Crest smiles

To eyes of despair

Hidden behind Gucci sunglasses

That hide the Son’s stare,

We might be able to stand in one another’s shoes

And dance into the heavenly courtyard

That calls our name

And reminds us why we came.

Quite possibly the proof the skeptic seeks

Is the reason we find ourselves so weak.

One provincial cries,

“Relentless humility

Is the salt in the wound of depravity.”

And a poor beggar with the heart of a poet sighs,

“The sage who aptly answers the

Riddle of pleasure and pain

Untangles a heavy heart to keep sane.”


We demand Starbucks with Karenesque perfection.

We fraternize on Facebook yet avoid those in our direction.

We drive faster to get away from the very thing that calls us.

Skinny jeans

And hipster tattoos

Are our latest fling,

Not to mention faux hawks

And Stance Socks,

Marketing self-brands

And “selfies” on Instagram,

Fictitious eyes

And no tan-lines,

Bigger breasts

And smaller waist-lines,

More money

But less family time,

Luxurious SUVs

And gas-guzzling Sprinters,

But the homeless sleep with the fumes.

Where are God’s “called out” ones?

Why can’t we see the plastic grins pasted on each other’s faces?

Wake up!

The world is watching

And they’re not seeing much passion from a chosen bride with frozen graces.

Where’s the voluptuous virgin in her white wedding dress?

Do we please the One who asked our hand to become one?

Or have we flirted with materialism

And slept with social Darwinism?

Do we still excite Him?

Or does He yawn,

Observing our mundane tasks of worship?

Will He say “Enough!” and postpone the engagement?

I believe Him to be a romantic

And too much a gentleman

To leave His fiancé at the altar.

His promise is all we have;

It’s all we need;

It’s what feeds us through the week.

A thin thread of grace is what binds us,

Holding us together in a Jewish-tailored skirt.

And a legacy of love is the dance He shows us—

When we didn’t care so much to learn.


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6 months ago

Great post


Category: Poetry, Suffering

I look outside my window

And wonder why others’

Faces aren’t melting,

Feeling the nuclear devastation

Of your leaving

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I felt like Icarus, whose hubris led him to fly too close to sun, which melted wax on his shoulders, causing feathers to unfasten, and thus his hope of freedom to come crashing down like one of Zeus’s lightning bolts.

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“Redeem and restore
What the locusts have eaten—
O Lord—
The schemes Satan’s woven,
Our innocence … stolen.”

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