By Benedict Cosgrove

Let's talk Bizarro. For those unfamiliar with the DC Comics universe, Bizarro is Superman's villainous doppelganger. He is erratic, impulsive, not terribly bright, and prone to lash out at the slightest provocation. His physical gestures are spasmodic. His skin has a corpse-like pallor. His speech patterns are malformed. ("Me realize that Superman never kill, so me kill lots of people! Them very grateful!")

Which brings us to Donald Trump. More specifically, it brings us to how the president acts and what he believes -- or does not believe.

None of us can look into another's heart, of course, so it's impossible to know if Mr. Trump is a man of faith. He sometimes makes noises suggesting that he sees himself as a Christian -- but his behavior throughout his life indicates that, if he has indeed absorbed the teachings of Christ, he has done so in the same way that a black hole absorbs light.

In fact, when it comes to some of Christianity's most fundamental teachings, Donald Trump has long acted in a manner that contravenes virtually all Christian admonitions, parables, and lessons. He acts, in others words, like a Bizarro Jesus.

With Christmas fast approaching, it behooves us to study this singular phenomenon more closely.

"If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also." (Matthew 5:38-40)

This is among the most straightforward lessons in the New Testament -- and one of the most challenging. In a way, it calls to mind Rainier Maria Rilke's great poem, "Archaic Torso of Apollo," and its wholly unexpected closing line: "You must change your life." The same is true for anyone who takes seriously the command to "turn the other cheek." You must change your life. You must re-imagine how you move through the world.

In his own Bizarro Jesus way, however, Donald Trump incessantly pulls the lessons of Matthew inside out. Whether he's ripping into a Gold Star family for questioning his own slippery grasp of the Constitution, or engaging in semi-coherent Twitter wars with ... well, with everyone, Trump's default mode is the graceless, ad hominem attack.

As Sarah Huckabee Sanders once argued, while ostensibly defending her boss, "the people of this country ... elected somebody to be strong, and when he gets hit, he's going to hit back."

The president's toddler-like inability to control himself is, in fact, a sign of strength? That's some bizarro logic, all right.

"Jesus poured water into the basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to dry them." (John 13)

Teaching his disciples the power of humility, Jesus once knelt before them and washed their feet.

For his part, in June 2017, less than six months into his chaotic reign, Trump sat smirking for the duration of a surreal meeting as cabinet members and other staff praised him in a display of raw sycophancy that would have made Kim Jong-un sigh with satisfaction. In one especially nauseating moment, then-Chief of Staff -- and longtime punching bag for the white nationalists and corporate goons who hold sway in the West Wing -- Reince Priebus thanked his boss for "the opportunity and blessing to serve your agenda."

For Bizarro Jesus, humility is for suckers. Servants hail their masters. Period. Full stop.

"For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited me in." (Matthew 25:35)

In both the Old and New testaments, the righteous are commanded again and again to help the stranger, the traveler, the refugee.

From the moment he was sworn into office, meanwhile, the president has fought to bar all sorts of refugees and, of course, citizens from primarily Muslim countries from even setting foot in the United Sates.

Behold! Bizarro Jesus gazes upon the homeless and the tempest-tossed -- and smugly kicks shut the golden door.

This Christmas, as the faithful around the world recall a ragged young couple who were shown kindness by strangers 2,000 years ago, I'll struggle to set aside for one moment the greed-fueled predations of Bizarro Jesus and his minions, and focus instead on the message that, in theory, animates all great religions: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

In the spirit of the season: Merry Christmas, everyone, no matter what you believe. And that goes for you, too, Bizarro Jesus. Yeah, even you.

Benedict Cosgrove is a writer and editor in Brooklyn, New York.

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