Monday, July 03, 2006
Great Commission
Here's another poem I've been working on. Amy says this one is especially dark. I was thinking of good hearted Christians who mistakenly think their witness is an act of aggression, rather than a conversation between people who are getting to know each other better.
I need to add the disclaimer that this poem is not about anyone at my church! Our preacher, Dr. Harris, is a kind man. And I love the people in our church. In fact, I have met few Christians that are as beligerent as this poems suggests. And yet, many non-Christians continue to think of us as militant nutbirds.
As always, the purposes is to reinvigorate the gospel with shocking images that help us see it with fresh eyes.
Great Commission
The church gives everyone a righteous ax
to whack and hack the hardened hearts
around us. "Into life," they say. "Chop
your neighbors to pieces, they'll thank you
when they break." And they mean well
I hope. I trust. I must since I go
each Sunday to talk and sing and pray
with them. "Come down," the preacherman calls
"Just as I AM," "the heavens will be dissolved
according to his promise. Look for a new heaven
and earth"--where golden axes wait
with blades that cut so sweet we'll each
off our new necks for Jesus, "Swing low,
sweet Lord, swing low." "Let me tell you,"
preacherman says, "What heaven will be like."
Swing low, sweet Lord Jesus, coming
forth to cut through my bones.
HillCountryWriter Category: Poetry
Technorati Tags: poetry writing verse
I need to add the disclaimer that this poem is not about anyone at my church! Our preacher, Dr. Harris, is a kind man. And I love the people in our church. In fact, I have met few Christians that are as beligerent as this poems suggests. And yet, many non-Christians continue to think of us as militant nutbirds.
As always, the purposes is to reinvigorate the gospel with shocking images that help us see it with fresh eyes.
Great Commission
The church gives everyone a righteous ax
to whack and hack the hardened hearts
around us. "Into life," they say. "Chop
your neighbors to pieces, they'll thank you
when they break." And they mean well
I hope. I trust. I must since I go
each Sunday to talk and sing and pray
with them. "Come down," the preacherman calls
"Just as I AM," "the heavens will be dissolved
according to his promise. Look for a new heaven
and earth"--where golden axes wait
with blades that cut so sweet we'll each
off our new necks for Jesus, "Swing low,
sweet Lord, swing low." "Let me tell you,"
preacherman says, "What heaven will be like."
Swing low, sweet Lord Jesus, coming
forth to cut through my bones.
HillCountryWriter Category: Poetry
Technorati Tags: poetry writing verse
