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| a mic, a stage, a pen, a page |
“The bible is just a book!”
Flipping through its pages, you can tell by one look,
It’s a crutch for preacher and an easy cop-out for the crook,
Armed with ignorance and spite, these skeptics pierce my side,
Sticking spears of false doctrine into my faith, poking fun at the divine,
Out of their doubt, they turn God’s word into a book of fallacies and lies,
They spit at the testaments of their salvation, their insults coat the gospels
They drop back to back diss tracks that leave me feeling meek,
Even if I’m charged up, they drain my energy from me, making me weak
Relishing in their attacks, they whittle my mustard seed faith…I hope I can catch-up
But look at how they read…
Sockets are a hollow, empty abyss
Their eyes scan pages, consuming them like locusts,
They can't conquer this Goliath task of belief because,
Their minds are Noah’s ark sinking in a wave of lies,
Their tongues hiss hate and spell their own demise…It’s really no surprise…
That, when they flip to the end they don't get revelations
They miss the Mark like they only read Matthew, Luke, and John
Clearly their body is present when they read, yet their spirit is withdrawn,
I can't convince them that this is the best book I've ever read because they're so far gone...
So I propose a new Do It Like Me challenge,
No quans will be hit and no cars will be hit
Instead let these living pages flip on their own, going to a verse that the soul needs
Learn to to rely on God’s word every day, to learn to read like me
With my eyes closed, teeth clenched like tighter than sin’s grip
Mouth parted like the Red sea, unleashing a cacophony of praise into the sky,
No, I don’t think you read like I do…
Hands caressing gaunt slices of truth,
Fingers commanding pens more than 10 times where to make their mark and underline,
No, I don’t think you read like I do…
Psalms pull my soul down to the depths of Sheol,
No matter how far I reach to save it, I know I can’t,
Tears stream down my cheeks, like Moses on the River Jordan,
Making a pool of guilt that my fete run across,
Yet my J’s sink, the gravity of my own sin drags me down in one direction,
My mouth tastes brackish sin and I sob as I stare at my own reflection,
because I know that no matter how hard I try, I can never reach perfection
No, I don’t think you read like I do,
Scooping handfuls of scripture on my soul, hoping to fill it knowing I will be satisfied,
That though my soul deserves to be crucified, Jesus took my place,
Now in times of trouble, all I have to do is look upon his face,
I see his word, a buffet piled high, filled with 66 different selections,
It doesn’t matter which one you pick they’ll all point to the same direction
They’ll parch your thirst as each verse packs a spiritual punch,
So as I eat in communion, I invite you to read like I do
I want you to feel Amens break and roll open the tomb of your heart,
The hallelujahs make you soar on the wings of eagles,
Because Ciabatta and Sourdough are no match for heavenly manna,
But I know that I live not on bread alone, but by the words of one who gets bread from stone
So if you are able, give the first fruits of what you have
Even if life is a big fish and you feel like Jonah,
Bear with me and hold on just a little while longer
When the glory comes, be drenched in love, and wade in the water
So please, I invite you, come to this table
Our numbers aren't limited to 12, take a seat, if you are able
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