shameforfaith

You can hear it if you listen close, lean in
Voices crying from the wilderness
Make straight the path, prepare the way for the…Wait, who, what’s that Name again?
But I mean, you can’t really blame them
How are they going to call if they’ve never heard of him?

You can see it on their faces,
The pain that replaces the joy of He who repairs the crooked places
Southeast Asian ladies slaves like pets of filthy pimps
Indian lepers rounded up like cattle, locked in cages
Left out in the waste places
The poverty monster roars louder than a lion
Devours daily little children by the tens of thousands

But you are sure you hear a commotion
Maybe that is actually a chorus of AIDS orphans,
Singing for a meal, or trying to earn a daddy
Or chanting the victory march of the Lord’s Resistance army
And just for clarification, it’s not “Onward Christian Soldier”
They’re singing for a king who brainwashed them into murderers

Quiet down for a minute, this racket in my brain
I’ve got my own issues, mouths to feed, bills to pay,
I know I’m not poor, but I’m not rich, I’m just saying
Man I care for real right? My heart breaks when I see it
OK so sometimes I change the channel on the T.V. when I see it
But I really can’t be bothered I’ve got some more goals to achieve
And it’s not my fault drug lords shoot each other in the street

Go down to the store, get you some Febreze
Maybe some Tough Actin’ Tinactin, cause there is something growing on your feet
I mean, they stink. And their anything but beautiful; Romans 10:15
Just wait a little longer, maybe they’ll rot and fall off
Then you won’t be able to go to help the “not well-off”
Isn’t that what you call them, the poor, the sick, the hungry?
Just give them a little money,
Make their coffins a bit more comfy

Yeah I said coffins, ’cause they’re dying in their sins.
And they’ll die and die forever if they’re never born again
But you’ve video games to win
Chores to do again
Dishes to wash, clothes to hang, club meetings to attend
And Lord knows you can’t trade those season tickets in
For sure this is the year that the What’s Its get that championship

Trade it in, come on trade it in
The world is not worth your soul, brother trade it in
I mean taking up your cross isn’t exactly a stroll through the roses
But Jesus said it’s the only way to live
Entrance in the Kingdom is the prize at the end
So get it in for the Kingdom that last 1,000 millennium

I’m not saying this is you, but the saying it is true
A bunch of folks think their Christians that Jesus never knew
But I’m religious! Brood of vipers white-washed tombs
Lukewarm doesn’t cut it, hot or cold or you get spewed
I believe in God? So does the devil, good for you
Faith without works is dead; read the Word and do.

Alright so this this poem is a little hype
But I’m just sayin’ it ain’t right.
Billions suffering in the world and the gospel’s not in sight
Their trapped in their sins, and we’ve got the light
Hid in baskets, locked in jars, with the lids screwed on tight
Maybe so it doesn’t get too bright?

But you’re the salt and you’re the light
Shining like a beacon to Jesus so the Father gets the glory right?
“Yeah but you’re judging me.” No dude I’m judging me
Trying to kill that hypocrisy, and live unashamedly
And when the Son of Man comes in His glory
He won’t be ashamed of me.

I spend a lot of time at Wake Forest Coffee Company.  At closing-time one summer evening the lights went down on all the boys and girls in the shop, and like Semisonic said so well, though I did not have to go home, I could not stay there.  I walked past a dozen or so high schoolers enjoying their last days of perceived freedom before the new fall semester donned, and initiated in them another 180 days of wishing their lives away until next summer.  It is sad that so many millions wish their lives away as if they have an infinite supply of days.

I was walking north toward the parking lot as Morocco was walking south from the parking lot, or somewhere entirely different, and we met at the two-seat table of conversation.  Taking a seat, Morocco, the warm summer night, and the very table itself all beckoned if not begged me to sit.  Morocco may have a slightly different recollection of the beckoning; however, I am convinced that he, the night, and the table would have all been quite disappointed if by them I passed.

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