A Brother

There once was a brother I knew

who loved to sling mud and preach dung.

He thought of himself as wise and mature,

but he was actually quite arrogant and young.


He cast no image into mirrors he viewed,

so he climbed as high as he could

and relished the recognition and accolades he got

from the soapbox upon which he stood.


His ears were deaf to everything

that did not concur with his views,

so he continued to stray away from the Way,

as did those who sat in his pews.


His church was a box that imprisoned him

and all those who came there to pray

to a god that lived but in a book

rather than in hearts in jars of clay.


Potters but mold the vessels they make

whilst the clay is but pliable and wet.

The heart and mind are likewise so,

for they can’t be changed once set.


Rigid, he was, and hard was his heart

to all that compelled him to grow.

Walls he did build to protect himself

from things he did not want to know.


He locked himself (and all that was his)

behind the walls of his box

and convinced himself (and all that was his)

that they were safe behind closed doors and locks.


The world spun on and changed over time.

Evil encroached upon good.

Time stood still within his church,

for its warriors were mired in childhood.


They drew pretty pictures of Joseph and Mary -

learned to play nice and sing songs.

They quoted Bible verses and came to believe

that Jesus would come back to right wrongs.


So waited they did, within their church,

and nothing is what they did do,

for Christ is the Spirit of OUR Creator,

and His body IS but me and you.


The Spirit can will for eternity

and accomplish all manner of things,

for It has eternity to wait, you see,

for obedience to the King of kings.


But neither you nor I nor the world nor the church

nor her children who sing and recite

will ever witness God’s will come to pass

by raising hands and being nice and polite.


For we are but vapors that blow on the wind -

we’re but dew that forms at night.

Inevitably day will dawn again,

and we’ll be gone in the warmth and the light.


The sword of truth has double sharp edges.

Its cut is love - not hate,

AND the truth is: that it is NOT truth

that Jesus will come while we wait.


No more so… is that the case now

than when Jesus FIRST came to Earth,

for if He’d not died the WAY that He died,

obeying His Spirit - not birth -


Jesus would have been just like other men

and died a death without worth,

and the tragedy would be that WE would all be

mere and mortal flesh upon this earth.


We’d have no access to that which transforms

and allows us to rise above flesh -

to be God’s body within His creation

and make His will and ours mesh.


The world would spin on, evil would grow,

and Creation would CONTINUE away.

Humanity, on the other hand,

would simply blossom and then FADE away


without ever seeing or knowing or being

God’s will upon this earth,

for we’d have rejected His Spirit and body

in lieu of that of OUR birth.


We sit in our pews to hear the good news

about how Jesus will, one day, return.

That He will, but listen, my friends,

it is… WITHIN US! THAT we must learn.


Christ is the Spirit of all creation

and His Spirit IS here and is NOW.

It’s time for His warriors to don His armor

and headlong, into battle, plow


rather than waiting and singing

and quoting Bible verses from heart,

we, like Jesus when He climbed on the donkey,

should simply do our part.


Jesus did not hesitate.

Into battle, He rode, on a colt.

He was ONE with the Spirit…

and we lock church doors with a bolt.


                          February 19, 2020