On Madison Street a girl hugs the street lamp
On Wiseher Street her light dies from the pastor's blowing
A lectern, a thick lectern, a rich lectern
Jesus' voice prisoned inside the chained tome.
Psychology and philosophy strut on a brightly lit podium,
They sing and clap and make a celebration out of Christ
Woe is me, Jesus raised me and my pastor killed me!
On Madison Street our pastor commissions a revival
On Wiseher Street a hall is decorated with clapping, with whistling
He took the voice of Christ and parades in costly ties and a vacant heart
Winged on jets and choppers and the hunger of a fasting Mary:
Tithe, oh tithe, a thousandfold tithe!
God is working and the bowls are filling!
But
Jesus bleeds on inside the ancient tome watching
Mary clap to the crash of her lamp and the silence of her murdered light
To the growth of her penury, and the
Rising cost of her pastor's ties.
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this is a beautiful piece. It's also thought-provoking and a stark reminder of how a lot of us Christians have missed it. Well done brother!
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