Writing is a fickle muse. Sometimes she decides to follow the direction of our Fearless Leader, Dr. Collier. Other times she decides to do something completely different. This is one of those moments. (Sorry, Dr. C).

 

I sit here calmly,

Observing from the pews.

Pastor’s spitting Scripture like the 10 o’clock news.

The brother on the organ sublimating his views

With a coy mix of gospel laced slightly with blues.

The words go forth, penetrating dead wood,

Hearts disengaged, this ain’t doing no good.

Soil rocked and hard, fertile? Long since passed..

Eyes rolling back, bodies limp

They’ve been gassed.

An hour or so later, it’s handshakes and all love

“Blessed and highly favored”, tongues focus up above

Yet when the keys fit into ignitions like gloves,

Those tongues turn to hisses, disses flying like slugs.

Sunday’s Saints becoming Sunday afternoon’s sects.

Flexing their theology to fit lives lived bereft.

Manipulating the gospel to fill hearts so far past broken,

That nobody knows the tears flowing behind glad tidings that are spoken.

Monday becomes Tuesday, sermon in the rear view

At Wednesday night service, no voices, simply glares too.

Thursday, full force, sin rife, walking in darkness,

Cold shoulders issued with glee, almost like parkas.

Friday it’s the club scene, the boo thing, the new thing

It’s that drink in the bottle-thing, and the high that that thing brings..

It’s God becoming god as the rods get wrapped around,

Then shattered on Saturday morning when the glasses hit the ground.

Then Sunday comes again, one hour of mundane power,

The Pastor speaks and screams, yells, twists, turns, and glowers..

Spit showered, Hell fire and brimstone thrown for 60..

if you can relate to this…

Then something is really missing.

See, the Gospel is no God-spell, sent to brainwash the heathens

The same wash the Jews got is the same wash that I needed.

That same Christ rises within me, nails sin against that knarled tree,

So how can I ignore him weekly, and meet Him so infrequently,

That I can’t even decide what to call Him when I see Him?

The church is not blameless, cause less and less of us stress

the importance of the fact that we be dressed in His righteousness.

Acting so holy with our Christo-political jargon,

Often getting caught within the traps that we circle in.

Only an hour of power can leave your life sour.

Only one hour of power will leave your walk dour.

We need Him daily, a minute by minute walk with our..

Powerful Maker, Almighty Savior, the Dream-giver…

Wonderful God, so mighty that words escape men when we meagerly try to praise Him.

Forget traditions, put down programs and church bulletins.

It’s time to unleash the Body and represent Him.