Black and white

My world is not a world of black and white.
My house is not an abode of absolutes.
When I say things,
though I try to mean what I say, and say what I mean,
I yield the floor to the Only Teacher of Mankind.

He alone is the Only Absolute in my life.
He tells me to move, I move.
He tells me to stand, I stand.
He says, give this, I give it.
Take that, and I take it.
Speak, and I form the words.
Be still, and I watch and wait.

His way is the high way.
He shows me the field paths,
and night or day, high or low,
wet or dry, black or white, I follow.

But don't ever take me at my word,
since only He can be trusted,
with you, with me, and with all.

Only He can lead you out of the land of black and white,
of yes and no, of true and false, so just let go.

Let go, let go, O my soul, just let go.
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Just to make sure

Defined by what I don’t
more than by what I do.

I am, or we are, right and everyone else is wrong,
and they’re gonna know it.

I speak up and stand up for what I believe.
Who cares who’s listening.

Who cares if someone’s feelings get hurt.
Somebody has to tell the truth.

I like what you say, but as for those other guys,
they’re just plain wrong, and I don’t mind telling you.

Yeah, you can be my friend, but watch out!
You’re under my gun the same as those other fellows.

If you don’t think like I do, you’ll hear from me.
Though as a Christian man I can’t say this out loud,
‘It’s my way or the highway.’

But God approves, because I’m rightly dividing His word.
If you know what’s good for you, stick with me.

Let’s live by what we do,
not by what we don’t,
just to make sure.
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Midnight of the saints

The day has come and gone.
Uneventful as to massive earthquakes,
the graves opening to release billions of bodies into the sky,
dragging along with them allegedly
a mere two hundred million souls
of those who had not yet been unbodied till that moment,
to meet the Lord in the air
according to words of pure vanity
never written or thought by the apostles
but stuffed into their mouths by teachers of unwisdom.

Fractious, factious, unfriendly, fiery purveyors of fantasy,
egged on as always by the evil one,
peddling dispensations that never were
in the mind or word of God,
nevertheless so sure of themselves
that they are willing to wreck the work of God,
to despoil the vineyard of the Lord,
to hold up to the world’s ridicule
the precious promise of the Christ to come again,
all to succor their own vain hopes,
to exalt their names above the Name.

It is the midnight of the saints,
their time of tribulation, the hour of their testing,
the furnace of their purification,
the deepest darkness
against the bright dawn of the true resurrection of the dead,
but also the time when the angelic hosts offer their praises,
unseen by the eyes of worldly wisdom,
unheard by the ears of those deafened
by the roar of the lies spawned by their divisive delusions.

Yes, we are all still here,
and Christ Jesus is still among us.

Not by us

Not by us, Yahweh, not by us,
by You alone is glory deserved.

Yes, not by us, not by me,
but what is it we do deserve?
What is it?

This morning, though the sun be bright,
is one of those days when everything I do
and am seems dark to me.

On my own, I affirm, I can do nothing.
Without Him, I confess, I am nothing.
It seems believable,
everything my enemies say about me,
if I have any friends,
and I understand in the depths of my bones
that there is no truth in me. 
Why? 

Because the truth hurts.
The truth stings.
Even if it is not
the whole truth and nothing but the truth,
even if it is only a part.

Well does the devil know this,
as he spends his nights showing to each
the sins and faults of others,
their shortcomings,
their imperfections,
their willful selfishness,
while concealing one’s own.

So he laughs us to scorn,
using our lust for glory as his trump card,
breaking us at the very moment
we think we have achieved victory
over others.

On the way to work,
I pass in full, unashamed view the glory of mankind
on a street that claims its fame
from the prostitutes that ply their trade there.
In the morning
one sometimes sees an unfortunate,
having been scooted out of the bed of a one night stand
onto the street
without having had time to tidy herself up,
but not this morning.

Instead,
I pass a group of four or five handsome youth,
seniors probably,
walking their way together to the high school up ahead.
They are all so happy,
friendliness for each other streaming from glad hearts,
oblivious of what lies ahead.

Innocent in his glory,
the nearest catches my eye,
a tall, slender youth,
his mocha face trimmed in scanty, light brown whiskers,
modly bespectacled—qué guapo!
—my soul rejoices to see him
and speaks a blessing on him and his friends,
that their day be bright.

Not by us, Yahweh, not by us,
by You alone is glory deserved.

Aching inwardly,
I feel I could write out my complaint in my own blood,
if I had a pen,
but I am humbled when I remember that
One has written in His own blood
not His complaint against us,
but the whole history of the universe from beginning to end,
and what is my cry against when faced with His,
‘My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?’

I can only continue in seeming despair,
‘How far from saving me the words I groan!’

He has covered all, even me,
with His own vanquished despair and death,
and left me the fruits of a peace
I did nothing to earn.

Along with others, I torment myself
thinking that He has abandoned His friendship for us,
because we sin,
even because we fail,
even when we only think the thoughts
and not do the things that convict us.

But He is nothing like what we think.

Far from punishing,
He stands ready to catch us.

By Your love and Your faithfulness,
by Your love and Your faithfulness.
Not by us, Yahweh, not by us,
by You alone is glory deserved.

Morning anaphora

I want to love you, Lord,
because You love me.
I want to find You, Lord,
because You found me.
I want to hear You, Lord,
because You hear me.
I want to know You, Lord,
because You know me.

How great You are
because You became small.
How strong You are
because You became weak.
How rich You are
because You became poor.
What a God You are
because You became man.

Without Your love
I could not live.
Without Your grace
I could not give.
I thank You, Lord,
with each beat of my heart.
Have mercy, Lord,
and never depart.
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