Easter, A Poem

Frilly baby blue dresses over new shiny shoes, little pink headbands and ties like a noose.

It’s all the same.

Same dirty hearts and hands lifted in praise to a god I’m not sure is even listening.

We’re here because we want things from him, we talk about him, read about him, sing about him so maybe he’ll owe us and we’ll twist his holy arm so much that he has to shower us with blessings, not him, things, that’s what we truly want.

But God.
God looks down and wants to see a body of believers, who look like him, and not a bunch of schemers all building empires like an army of greedy beavers, building dams that back up the wealth, and give it out as they see fit, get scissors and snip, the best part for the church, what’s left for the unfit, the poor, those who smell and stink, the addicted, those covered in ink, but we’ve missed it, or lost it, or both, ‘cause when Jesus got off the boat those were the people who needed the growth, and he saw it and loved them and gave them his all, his sleep, his attention, his power, his call wasn’t to build or collect tithes for the skilled so the people would be filled with some sort of holyish spectacle, whip out your phones and get critical, and lets tweet or rate the service on Google, can’t we see?

… continued at Easter, A Poem


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