Voice of One
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write the saddest poem of all at three
no, nearly four now
in the morning because I can’t sleep.
I won’t sleep
I don’t
want
to sleep
because America is already sleeping.
America is already
asleep.
Can I write the saddest poem?
Can I express what is running my heart
around
and around
and around
and keeping me from sleep?
Come to think of it, it’s a futile task.
There are no words for it.
No words
for the betrayal
heartache
hands-tied
scream-out-loud
utter
shame
I
feel.
I am an American.
And Lord knows I’ve fought it
fled from it
denied it
lied
about it
but I am
an American.
Proud to be one?
No.
Proud to be a part of the self-righteous
self-satisfied
self-sufficient
sleeping giant
whose potential has come to nothing
because it’s naptime
snack time
gossip time
every Sunday morning at 10:30?
Proud?
No.
No, damn it, no.
God bless America?
God damn the American church
if we won’t
open our eyes
to all of it
ALL of it now
all of the truth
the whole truth
nothing but the truth
so help us, God.
So
help us, God!
This nation
this
free
nation
the one with the money
the liberty
the justice for all
is the nation that has been blessed.
Get it?
We asked
He answered
We’re blessed
Now GO!
For God’s sake, GO!
For his sake
my sake
the sake of those who don’t even know they have a sake
or a say
or a value in anyone’s eyes,
for OUR sake, go.
And make disciples.
No, no, no.
Not drop the pennies
nickels
dimes
pre-planned and committed tithes in the collection basket
to support the missionary
who already went.
No.
You go.
Get off your pew
(the same one you sit in
and have sat in
and will sit in
every Sunday
forever and ever
amen)
get off your ego
and think about it.
How hard is it for a rich man to enter
the kingdom?
“But the rich man has the keys
the say
the power
the privilege-”
Not
any
more.
You’re blessed by grace
blessed for no grace
or merit of your own.
God knows you have none
and heaven forbid the world should find out
(but no worries there
you’ve taken the right steps of leadership
discipleship
piety
perfection
and no one will question you).
Upset?
So get out
go
and make disciples.
Make disciples.
Call them with love
call them personally
by name
meet them where they are
and make disciples
HOLD UP.
Not convert your quota
or share the wordless book
just enough times
and then wonder
why little Joey
fell away and didn’t follow Jesus.
(He prayed the prayer, you know.)
Maybe little Joey
never
met
Jesus.
Make disciples.
Love them
nurture
come alongside
love
love
love
love
live
and die for them.
Teach them
support
encourage
grow them.
Be Jesus-
Oh, I’m sorry!
Have you not met?
This
is Jesus.
This love
this man
these bleeding hands
don’t shake them
they’ll stain your Sunday gloves
OH, LORD!
If only you knew
that those bloodstains
are the only thing that can make you clean.
But you don’t know
because you were too distracted by the blood
sweat
dirt
and tears
mixed together
an elixir of love
staining the hands reaching out for your heart
Don’t back away, dear “Christian”
in your Sunday best
to maybe check
if the coffee needs refilling
the cookie plate is empty
there are friends to greet and talk to.
For once, don’t back away.
Four fifteen now
and I’m getting tired
but my mind still races and my heart still breaks.
There is too much
too much
Oh, Lord,
too much for me to handle.
I want to change the world
I want to step up
and speak out
and change the world
but I’m scared
and small
and young
and only one.
But if we were one
oh, if we
together
were one…
Wake up, America.
Truth is, the breaking dawn doesn’t bode well.
There are no promises here
of comfort
ease
acceptance
enough money to pay the cable bill.
The only promises here
are of suffering
scorn
mockery
disdain from every side
but, oh, at the end of the day
at the glorious sunset falling on aching bones that have no more to give
there are promises there,
dear, dear Christian.
Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The LORD
is the everlasting God,
the Creator
of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired
or weary
and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength
to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired
and weary
and young men stumble
and fall
but those who hope
in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They
will
soar
on wings like eagles;
they will run
and not grow weary
they will walk and not be faint.
So come.
Approach the throne freely
bold sinner
Approach the throne boldly
free sinner
for you are free.
God, bless America
with an understanding of Yourself
and a boldness to go
a boldness in speech
in life
in love
in faith
and in purity
a boldness to go
and make disciples…
Now go.
And sin no more.
Write the saddest poem of all at three
no, nearly four now
in the morning because I can’t sleep.
I won’t sleep
I don’t
want
to sleep
because America is already sleeping.
America is already
asleep.
Can I write the saddest poem?
Can I express what is running my heart
around
and around
and around
and keeping me from sleep?
Come to think of it, it’s a futile task.
There are no words for it.
No words
for the betrayal
heartache
hands-tied
scream-out-loud
utter
shame
I
feel.
I am an American.
And Lord knows I’ve fought it
fled from it
denied it
lied
about it
but I am
an American.
Proud to be one?
No.
Proud to be a part of the self-righteous
self-satisfied
self-sufficient
sleeping giant
whose potential has come to nothing
because it’s naptime
snack time
gossip time
every Sunday morning at 10:30?
Proud?
No.
No, damn it, no.
God bless America?
God damn the American church
if we won’t
open our eyes
to all of it
ALL of it now
all of the truth
the whole truth
nothing but the truth
so help us, God.
So
help us, God!
This nation
this
free
nation
the one with the money
the liberty
the justice for all
is the nation that has been blessed.
Get it?
We asked
He answered
We’re blessed
Now GO!
For God’s sake, GO!
For his sake
my sake
the sake of those who don’t even know they have a sake
or a say
or a value in anyone’s eyes,
for OUR sake, go.
And make disciples.
No, no, no.
Not drop the pennies
nickels
dimes
pre-planned and committed tithes in the collection basket
to support the missionary
who already went.
No.
You go.
Get off your pew
(the same one you sit in
and have sat in
and will sit in
every Sunday
forever and ever
amen)
get off your ego
and think about it.
How hard is it for a rich man to enter
the kingdom?
“But the rich man has the keys
the say
the power
the privilege-”
Not
any
more.
You’re blessed by grace
blessed for no grace
or merit of your own.
God knows you have none
and heaven forbid the world should find out
(but no worries there
you’ve taken the right steps of leadership
discipleship
piety
perfection
and no one will question you).
Upset?
So get out
go
and make disciples.
Make disciples.
Call them with love
call them personally
by name
meet them where they are
and make disciples
HOLD UP.
Not convert your quota
or share the wordless book
just enough times
and then wonder
why little Joey
fell away and didn’t follow Jesus.
(He prayed the prayer, you know.)
Maybe little Joey
never
met
Jesus.
Make disciples.
Love them
nurture
come alongside
love
love
love
love
live
and die for them.
Teach them
support
encourage
grow them.
Be Jesus-
Oh, I’m sorry!
Have you not met?
This
is Jesus.
This love
this man
these bleeding hands
don’t shake them
they’ll stain your Sunday gloves
OH, LORD!
If only you knew
that those bloodstains
are the only thing that can make you clean.
But you don’t know
because you were too distracted by the blood
sweat
dirt
and tears
mixed together
an elixir of love
staining the hands reaching out for your heart
Don’t back away, dear “Christian”
in your Sunday best
to maybe check
if the coffee needs refilling
the cookie plate is empty
there are friends to greet and talk to.
For once, don’t back away.
Four fifteen now
and I’m getting tired
but my mind still races and my heart still breaks.
There is too much
too much
Oh, Lord,
too much for me to handle.
I want to change the world
I want to step up
and speak out
and change the world
but I’m scared
and small
and young
and only one.
But if we were one
oh, if we
together
were one…
Wake up, America.
Truth is, the breaking dawn doesn’t bode well.
There are no promises here
of comfort
ease
acceptance
enough money to pay the cable bill.
The only promises here
are of suffering
scorn
mockery
disdain from every side
but, oh, at the end of the day
at the glorious sunset falling on aching bones that have no more to give
there are promises there,
dear, dear Christian.
Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The LORD
is the everlasting God,
the Creator
of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired
or weary
and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength
to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired
and weary
and young men stumble
and fall
but those who hope
in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They
will
soar
on wings like eagles;
they will run
and not grow weary
they will walk and not be faint.
So come.
Approach the throne freely
bold sinner
Approach the throne boldly
free sinner
for you are free.
God, bless America
with an understanding of Yourself
and a boldness to go
a boldness in speech
in life
in love
in faith
and in purity
a boldness to go
and make disciples…
Now go.
And sin no more.