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 

Is worthless

But still recount the stories of David and Goliath

Forgetting that it was the goal-ie-heart

Of David that made the story there.
Dear Christian,

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

© Symolean