Eerie Comfort

I find it peculiar That the patients in God's hospital look familiarI feel like this is Alcatraz, a display of the insaneThe asylum has no change, am I to blame?Same first-world suburb issues that could be easily forgottenAnd why does God's undefined complexion always show white?This congregation, a place of segregation As if the dark-skinned, melanin-bearing, broken facesAre inferior to receive God's grace almost as if this race to heaven is racist The pastor, stands at the pew, either spewing hate or giving milk to adults of the faithWe got some in-house issues, yet we try to portray perfectionAs if we're now Jesus and insecurity is pointing his directionWhen God said he'd provide, it had nothing to do with wealth God's grace should be sufficient no matter rich, poor, or state of health—God's not circumstantial, he's character basedYet living poor seems to us like God throwing acid in our faceIf you were born in Kenya with cocoa skin, living in poverty, working in the marketplace, do you think your wealth would remain?Or in the downtown area, another Ghetto—different culture—different school system that got you only to community college what'd you say?Look around the church you start to notice a pallet that is monochromeAs if the fact that Jesus was born in modern day Syria never entered Michelangelo's domeWe love to believe going through the motions makes us holy But this false information is only a bunch of folly Heavens "elite" Are composed of the prostitutes whose tears washed Jesus's feetWe all fall short of GodAt the end of the day, your net-worth is worthlessWhat will be measured are the hearts you blessedThe people you pursued Addressing the skeletons in the closet, elephants in the roomHow many hearts you dared to love and teachHow long your arms were hyper extended to gain a longer reachLife's a journey filled with mountains to climbThe valley's are for rest yes but we mustn't settle and lay back in luxurious declineBut don't we? Our suburb money overflow "peaceful" lives?Is comfort a cover where complacency hides?Cause to be honest I don't feel like I'm really movingI'm scared of giving my all and riches to follow a homeless, starving, hole-and-splinter bearing saviorTo participate in a radical generosity that is deemed unwise behavior But I find an eerie silence of contradiction when I get comfortableWhen I follow a God, who displays a life that's uncomfortable    

 

This poem is about: 
My community

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