A Lament for the Lack of Lament

So you like your old wineskin

like it sloppy, like it slick?

So you like a good story

wonder which song they’re gonna pick?

So you like the pretty steeple?

So you like the petty rhyme

and the rhythm of the people

up the church steps right on time?

So you like to know what’s comin’,

so you like to feel at home?

So you like to hug each other

with no fire in your bones?

So you like a snappy sermon,

So you like to shuffle out

have some lunch, some Bible learnin’,

with some praise, twist and shout?

So you like to shed a tear but you sure don’t wanna wail?

So you like a Bible study that’s movin’ like a snail?

So you wanna feel convicted but then keep it to yourself

So you need a little sugar just like everybody else.

So you’d like to hear a “Word” and you’d like to get chill?

And you’d like to wear a t-shirt ’bout a light upon a hill?

You aim for brotherly affection

so you wouldn’t want to say

That a brother’s clear direction’s

Hellbound in the way

That he won’t say the name of Jesus

That he’s never called aloud

That the fruit’s not on the tree

That his faith is in a shroud.

So you want some unity

keep division from the ranks

But you must agree to hear and see

no evil, take your silence to the bank

As the church’s children lie

In the world’s immoral bed

And Rachel’s weeping loudly

For her prodigals lie dead

In the grave of dead religion

No holiness, no power

No humility, no travailing

No vision for the hour.

Shoot, I’m late for church

Brother, I hate to offend

I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings

Of course, I will attend…

Don’t forget the coffee

And don’t forget the tea

Don’t forget the smiles

Don’t forget warm humanity

But do forget the gospel

Do forget the stench

Of a God with flesh ripped open

Of the call to join His death

So that resurrection Life

Can come unhindered from your belly

Come on, church, He’ll bring the fire…

Just admit there isn’t any!

His harvest is out there whitened

But they aren’t going to hear

A whiny call from unbelievers

Who give the church their ear

But don’t know the voice of Jesus

Hate correction, hate the call

To forsake their lives, their purse, their home

To give the Master all.

The lost are waiting for a Savior

They’re waiting to come in.

They’re waiting to hear a message

From a Church that’s free from sin.

Nobody can get saved

When there’s no salvation sung.

And nobody gets free

With Bells that have no freedom rung.

So you can have your steeple

And you can have your pie.

You can have a blessed meeting

But I just want to die.

I want to die that He might live

life abundantly through me.

I want to shout the Gospel message

That the pulpit’s ceased to be.

I want to say that I’m a sinner

I want to say it every day

So that every drop of glory

Goes straight to Jesus’ name.

I want to see the truth about me

See His righteousness displayed

Apart from Jesus I’m a viper

I’m vicious; I’m afraid.

I want every girl who’s been defiled

I want every violent boy

I want every neglected child

I want them to know the joy

Of power that’s not someday

Of healing for a sign

Of freedom from perversion

Of fire and oil and wine

To know that church is made of people

Who couldn’t make it on their own

But encountered Blood in payment

For all the wickedness they’d sown.

I want to preach what Jesus preached.

His word is like a fire.

I want to break down every hard place

With the hammer of His desire…

I hate dead religion.  I hate sitting in my sin.

I hate compromise, I hate mock surprise

I hate confusion, pride and spin.

If God doesn’t deliver,

If Jesus doesn’t save,

If your life isn’t a fire,

Then who are you serving anyway?

There’s one way to salvation

It’s a door that stoops so low…

There’s a sign that says repentance

The other side says, “Go…”

You can’t preach it if you don’t live it.

You can’t love if you don’t get it.

There’s no authority

in pride, you see,

There’s the floor, we gotta hit it.

Let’s wail for the dying.

Let’s cry out for the lost.

Let’s take this wholesome meeting

And reconvene it at the cross.

See there’s Jesus, wholly perfect.

Dying like a thief,

Bloody beyond knowing,

Because He wanted me.

I’m not better than my Master

I won’t stand above the fray

Singing chorus after chorus

Unconcerned about the way

That the sick are still in wheelchairs.

That the lame are in their beds.

That the prisoners are captive still

And the hungry aren’t fed.

Jesus is the answer!

Jesus is the Way!

Repentance is the Gospel!

I’m crying out to say

Take my numbness, Jesus,

You aren’t numb, you feel our every pain!

Take my dumbness, Jesus,

You aren’t mute, and I won’t be ashamed!

Let Your word run forth swiftly

To every aching soul

Trapped in every form of bondage

The world has ever known.

Church isn’t gonna cut it.

The people aren’t going to come.

The steeple isn’t that inviting.

The small groups aren’t that fun.

We have to take the gospel

To the ones who haven’t heard

We have to live the gospel

We have to BE the Word.

This poem comes straight out of a deep look into my own heart.  It’s a cop out  to identify religion in someone else’s life and call it out.  Even unbelievers can do that.  The only way I know to get free of religion is to see it in one’s own life, and every bit of it described above has been in mine.  I pray that if anyone reads this, there would be no condemnation, but a call to honesty and hope.  God is real.  There are so many people out there who are hungry for God.  But the God that is represented in our churches is often  not very real.

I see folks I love wandering around confused, wondering where God is, not knowing that the instant they cry out like the publican, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner!” their confusion will evaporate, and He’ll be right there.  I hear many Christians calling out for revival, seeking a power dump to solve the problem.  In a few instances, I’ve even seen this become an almost unbelievable mockery, as people cry out for revival but resist every form of it for themselves.  The power of God is already manifested for us.  The Bible says that the gospel is the power of God unto salvation for all who believe.  (Rom 1:17).  The problem is not that there’s no power, it’s that the ones who claim the gospel as their own don’t fully believe it or don’t like the lifestyle of full repentance it prescribes.

There is no need to wait for revival.  Any person who is blessed with the revelation that the delay is their own, that they are hedging their own need by calling out for a mass move because they are slow to respond themselves, can have personal revival immediately.  I have heard so many people cry out, “We need revival!” and seen so little results.  I have never seen a person genuinely cry out with tears, “I need revival!” and not seen the Spirit of God usher in a flood to that person.  He gives grace to the humble, but opposes the proud.  This is the story of God v. man.  If we will only admit our need, He will abundantly supply…  But religion sees no need.

¹ “Ho! Everyone who thirsts,
Come to the waters;
And you who have no money,
Come, buy and eat.
Yes, come, buy wine and milk
Without money and without price.  Isaiah 55

¹⁹ As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten. Therefore be zealous and repent. ²⁰ Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.  Rev. 3:19-20

I’m in Love…

…with the kindest Man the world has ever known.  How could I not be?

The world presses back the stretching mom with her little ones into irrelevance and ignominy, but her eyes see something eternal.  She fights a tide of “You’re nothing, you’re irrelevant, you’re not doing anything.”  Some days it’s a rip tide, threatening to tear her under, and God help her if there’s no one there to see.  But she loads all the little ones on her back and presses against the tide, driven by something this world does not count for much.

And so she presses, sure there must be something for her if she keeps on.  She’s got her own weight to get through the crowd, and also the crawling weight of the little ones, who are never still.  She’s pushing through unseeing, unwelcoming systems and people.  Without any words, they tell her that she will miss everything, be busy wiping a nose at just the right moment, that she’ll try to run and chase the Teacher, but the children will stumble, and together they’ll be left behind.  But she keeps trying and pushing, just in case there might be something for her.

And then when she gets close, the guys in charge rebuke her.  “There’s no time.  Go back.”  But her heart is saying, “They’re wrong!  I know my children matter.  I know they do…”  But what can she say?  She’s just a mom, her arms are aching and the kids won’t last much longer.  Soon, she’ll need to nurse.  Did she try so hard for nothing?

Then…His voice, undignified.  “Stop it!  Stop it!  Let them through!  DO NOT FORBID THEM!”  And the brown, tender carpenter is running toward her, now, eyes on her small son.  “Bring them to me…”  And the heavy babe who’s about to break her arm has wriggled to the ground to leap at the One with the strong voice and the gladness in His eyes.  She rubs her bicep and hears her daughter whisper, “Mama, I think He likes us…is He glad we came?”

And everyone has to bend down and strain to hear what He says, because he’s low to the ground, level with the little ones.  She holds her breath because He’s talking to her son.  “Now, here you are.  I’ve been looking for you.  Will you help me talk to the people?  Climb up here in my arms, what a strong little warrior you are!  All of Jericho could not stop you, eh?”

And then, loudly:  “Here is the heart that I’m looking for.  Here is the Jew who is ready for the truth, the one who will believe.  This is how the kingdom works.  A heart that has not yet been hardened by pride into independence.  But who is soft to love.  He does not try to provide for the Father.  He only brings needs.  He does not explain why he is right.  He’ll just receive what I say and believe it completely.  He’ll obey immediately, just because I said to.  When he doesn’t, he’ll know he’s wrong and he’ll come back and cry in My arms about it.  When I tell him I love him, he will love Me back.  That simple.”  Well, those weren’t His exact words, but He spoke, “…of such is the kingdom of Heaven…” and she was intimately acquainted with his bright-eyed prop.   She watched as He set her son down, and gasped when he immediately lunged for the Teacher’s staff and climbed up on a rock to imitate Him.

But the Teacher only laughed and turned to her daughter.  Now, he had her little girl’s face in His hands and she gave back a dazzling smile.  In the crowds she hears whispers, “Such a beauty…”  There had been no such whispers a moment ago, when she was pressing through the crowd.  But then her daughter had not smiled like that for at least a year, since their money had run out.   Jesus was whispering to her daughter, pointing to the heavens and saying the word, “Abba…”  He touched her hair and began to count, making her daughter giggle.  “It would take a thousand years!” she cried, in their private conversation.  “I tell you the truth, little beauty, He has counted them all.  He is Abba.”

She looked down and saw her dress was wet with her tears now.  Could this be happening?  She had been right about her children.  They were important, the Teacher thought so.  Still the little wrinkle between her eyes remained.  Would her children remember everything He said to them?  If only she could write, she would record it forever.  What if they didn’t even remember meeting Him?  Then the dancing, burning eyes were looking straight into hers.

“This is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel
after that time,” declares the LORD.
“I will put my law in their minds
and write it on their hearts.
I will be their God,
and they will be my people.  ³⁴ No longer will a man teach his neighbor,
or a man his brother, saying, ‘Know the LORD,’
because they will all know me,
from the least of them to the greatest,”
declares the LORD.”

Why did the words of Jeremiah ring like a bell in her when He spoke them?  Had He even spoken it out loud?  Had anyone else heard it?  She choked in the shock and pleasure of His attention, trying to form words.  She understood.  The Holy Writings…for her.  The ancient prophecies…about her children.  The temple rulers would strike her for such blasphemy.  But she knew:  Whatever this Teacher said was true.  The women of old had sung songs of victory and praise, and that was what she had in her heart…Miriam’s, Deborah’s, and her own all mixed together.  But all she could get out of her mouth was to point to the children and say to Him…  “Yours…Rabbi…we are always with You…”

It would never be appropriate for a woman to express love to a Rabbi, she wouldn’t think of it.  She remembered to drop her eyes.  But in her heart, the tide had turned and she was rushed forward, pressed back no longer, and every other voice had become insignificant.  Even when the Teacher was tried as a criminal and hung on the tree, her devotion was fixed.  He was perfect, she knew.  The kindest Man who ever was, and everything He said was True.

Many waters cannot quench love,
Nor can the floods drown it.
If a man would give for love
All the wealth of his house,
It would be utterly despised.

Song of Songs 8:7

Contraction

Contraction

Reaction

a fraction in time

Is all I got in this world

So I gotta make mine

Every heart, every child

On the side of the road

Every piece of the carnage

That the system unloads

God is a fire

And I want to burn

In my eyes, in my eyes

Till I see that one turn

Refusal

Denial

A fraction in time

Till my God comes in force

And there is no more time

My life is a garden

But my life is a waste

Till the hungry are eating

And the dead get to taste

Life in abundance

Life that is real

Life that is water

From a well that is sealed

Oh God make me humble

Oh God make me pure

Oh God make me ready

Oh God make them sure

That you’re God, That you’re God

That you’re alone on the throne

When my days are a fragrance

When my nights are a song

When the streets are my longing

And the walls are all wrong

When my cry can’t be silenced

And my passion is stirred

Then it comes, then it comes

“Here, now” is the Word

The harvest is plenty

The harvest is mine

The harvest is ready

I am sought; I will find

Where can I meet Jesus

Where did He go?

To the cross

To the lost

To the glory foretold

Take my life

Let it be

A triumphant roar

From the belly of the thirsty

Drenched by downpour

Only flow through my hands, only capture my tongue

Only make me a million

Oh God from my one

Let them come

Let them come