Christianity has celebrated mediocrity to the point that I now feel that Christians can’t be more than mediocres.
They burden me with how wonderful the choir of saints in heaven would be
Then give me a hay’ven cacophony to soot my soul
Deeply longing for a good music.
They tell me that it’s the heart I sang with that mattered
Forgetting Martha and her service
They want me to stop listening to melodies the so-called sons of Lucifer made
Yet travel the same circle of shouting, pouting the name of Jesus
As though the dissonance their producer made could
Be made whole by the name
( Jesus has a mighty name we know).
But hiding under the tent that you are shouting Jesus
Disturbing the peace of my ear drums; would never turn salt water fresh.
They are inspired by the holy Spirit
But never have they tried to inspire their talent…
At least by getting more than vocal training.
Few names have decided not to follow their lead.
Christians have told me to drop my goals at the alter
To never mind how good or bad my academic performance is.
They told me that all that mattered is Christ having an expression in me
As I seat leisurely in my seating room praying and studying the Bible alone
While Chinese that know little of him develop the fastest computers
And Indians showcasing their literati on YouTube
As they flood us with tutorials on virtually all spheres of knowledge.
They told me that all am meant to offer YouTube is Just Jesus through his words
No need to mention things that are of no heavenly values.
They said I should not have my pastime with romance and fantasy novels
Yet only have ages old Francine Rivers’ and a hand full of few other good writers to
Present to me.
They expect me to read Paradise Lost till I become born again again
Then push Paradise Regained as soon as the deed is done
But have no new poets outside the Americans that I barely hear
To quench my taste
(Christ will quench my taste they say)
They would make me an outcast for reading The Da’Vinci Code
Call me demonised for reading Inferno
Make me feel that I have no sense of direction for reading Ellen Hilderland’s
And expect me to patronise their poorly depicted last super
Which they have decided to leave as bland as it has always been.
They told me nothing else matters except singing in heaven
Leaving with the the assumption that I would end up useless in heaven.
They told me that leaving my name on the sand of time like Naymar
But still recount the stories of David and Goliath
Forgetting that it was the goal-ie-heart
Of David that made the story there.
You are called to be more than this poorly edited version of yourself that you have kept at.
Look around you and maybe I would have no need trying to convince you that he, whom you serve is perfection…
So, be ye perfect like him