THE LAST SUPPER

Inside the upper room of a one house they checked in. The Son of God and three men. Filled in around a table rather than nice pew rows. AND THE SON said: Take this... eat in rememberance of me. In rememberance of what? To what could you possibly mean? TO twelve sitting around a table that in the garden will get up and flee... Is this truly to show YOU... how you are forgiving?

Calling Young Sinners, Come Home

          White noise for promiscuous girls and boys. New toys made the sky rocketing of the pick pocketing brought to you by such and such fads. Call collect so that marketing can collect while you collect your new sense of identity and worth so that you can find a false identity, hoping that in four years when you finally reach early adulthood you might meet and become the real you. The presumptuous immoral compass... we put labels saying not for those 12 and under as if that which is not beneficial is a game to play with. But hey, you can legally become an alcoholic when you turn 21. And when you’re eighteen legally have as much sex that you can to deem kinky and as excessive fun. But really if you aren't caught Hollywood and golden globe nominees treat such touchy subjects as a playful strip tease that you, the general audience, can indulge in. No one's knees have to bow to moral and angelic decrees. We've kicked our next generation’s knees down to where they can feast the delicacy of infestations, pig slops of disease. Feasting upon what drives our culture in which the media prostitute sits her unGodly womb upon. That which fifty years ago was frowned upon. We are rolling around up and down in our dung pile of happiness... as if our own cheap occupancies can satisfy and quench such a royal and eternal vacancy. And such a God was mocked, defied, crucified. Pierced in the side. A prince then wrapped in cheap linen in a rich man’s tomb. Clothing for a dead man left in perfect order as evidence of a resurrection. And yet as we're inspecting we are still holding unto the earthly garbs of the evidence of a resurrection. We wear the cheap linen even though in our own guilt we bleed. We bleed out in our subconscious. We are soaked in things of a spiritual battle indwelling that some would call faulty apparitions or a blind, conceited, depleted hoax... but I tell you, this... this is no joke. Inspect. Inspect and interject in my indecency. Cause from far away you truly thought I was me. But really what I preach is only what I tell you to be. I'm the teenage day dreamer. Youth, which I think is stuck in a standstill. Look at me. I got all the time to kill. BUT!!! IF YOU TOOK THE TIME TO FIND ANY FAULT ANY CRIME!!! You'd see that I have lied... that it's not after I was baptized that I had resurrected all these things. Those old ways! I've just turned the page to new days. BUT!!! Please if you would just look at this... touch this with compassion that I got a glimpse of from some scripture that painted my salvations picture... If I saw the Christ in you that was calling me home... Maybe, finally I would stop this promiscuous roam... If you calmed the current in this black hole...  And made adventures for a citizen’s soul. Then maybe, just maybe I would finally learn which way to go.

Pale Skinned Infant

I'm an infant of pale white skin. Bones scattered and thin. As if my own flesh and bones had no reason to move. This world being the big blind canvas. Shaded in a dark blue. Left looking for that which through my humanity I have been called into existence in a cracked, broken stance.
I'm the frail stance, saved by Mercy Hands over the killing of some merciless men. Body covered with telephone ads. Ads coated to the skin like a paper mache. Body tied by the coating of such a mache. Only the lips left to move... enough to call out this way.
WHERE'S THE FAMILY... that we once had... should have had... I thought I was born from a mom and a dad. But that ole abortion clinic made a one spouse a hopeful cynic cause boy you where no twinkle in that daddy's eye. And though God's made a miracle of you, the autism has still made you, by mother’s arms, casted aside. The cutting of the umbilical cord of this son... a proclamation, a celebration of the family... it's a shame it won't ever be done.
If only those bandages could speak... if only those telephones ads could really speak... if one unborn child could show the will to love and to hold and to feel. I wonder. I wonder if the stirring of the womb... if it would have ever been stilled. If we saw the dreams of an unborn before the curtain was torn and the injection was poured into the already living form. Abortions are not the answer to carelessness, lust, or rape-date-porn.
Telephone ads make for nice gauzes and pads. But the addresses of numbers tell of hopeful lawyers and practicians that I wish for my own sake could petitioned a better deal. And the rest are these: Those careless practicizing the American ideal that you can have what you want. Sex is the fast food train of society. Brown paper bags holding leftover burger scraps. Our new morality using dirty rags to cover up the 3 to 22 ounce life-stripped meat bags. The end result bringing two things shame and being sad.
And if we don't like the way that feels pop a morning after pill. The 21 century steal that won't change the way your stomach projects or the morning sickness you really don't wanna detect.
The 21 century abolitionists think they have saved young women from bondage and slavery, rather than having them take on the responsibility of pregnancy God gave thee.
I don't think the case for the woman carrying some extra baggage around for nine months will cause my mental structure to heal... or the dead to be able to taste, touch, and feel what life must really offer.
I am getting a taste of the life I thought I was to live.... because when I was casted and molded I was already confounding the laws of nature... that soul would be put in a single cell XY chromosome. Smaller than your doting of that i on that piece of paper as you signed that waver.
That new generation having a dependency even before the start of infancy. And yet because of a clinic souls live in fear of being put into a genocide... where the dependence on a physically mature shell is all they have to hide. But the fetus is too unformed to kick... isn't capable to yell. So how do you let them know that you confide in them before they rectify such a earth based hell?
Please someone... open up a census. Look at the names missing. Do you really get the idea? Are you sensing what I'm sensing? Or look at the empty desk seats in a school and then look at people like me who's protectors became fools. Our desires can become weapons, and hands unGodly tools.
I'm sorry I wasn't in the plan but it could have panned. What happened when on those supposed guardian wings of parenting that folly would rip a tear into understanding instead one shedding one single tear on selfish planning?
But please don't assume I think we should lock up the mothers of church's sisters and brothers. It's our societies teaching on morality that is on the decline. I'm just trying to spread some Godly wisdom. That maybe you too would see that when it comes to the responsibility of caring for the unborn he's and she's that from the genetic code at conception has already been planned 9 months before infancy. I hope you take the situation more delicately, that you are nursing the next generation. That your womb and your seeds create a place for the sacred, holistic plantation. Sins do not carry unto offspring. Only the consequences the choices bring.

Truly, a Good Friday

Last night I attended a Good Friday service. Often when I go to a special service or a holiday service at a Church I'm expecting something... Usually you look for a guest speaker, a narrative set, a skit, a adament speaker, props, amazing (special) worship music (all modern and dressed out). Most churches try to put on their (humanities) best to capture the attention of the world.
Last night I came into this Good Friday service with certian expectations only to have them smashed and shattered into tiny little pieces. I love it. Lately, I've been disappointed with the overall of the church trying to keep up with the rest of the world. This whole concept of being relevant, well because "An unconditional God isn't relevant enough." I loved it. I feel like too much of the church is built up with humanities expectations for how to be enticing to people that we limit the relationship of God... I can't feel God when I'm at church or being the church.... because I'm expecting this experience. I'm out to eat and want to be entertained. I'm only there for an experience. I'm really getting tired of church trying to feed me an experience. I want to relate, fellowship, commune, and grow... I want to live. Last night I went to a Good Friday service that didn't meet my expectations and I absolutely loved it.
I sat down and was greeted with scripture... just scripture. Certain members of the congregation got up and they read the story. Some extra scripture was read outside of the Gospels... but I actually had to listen to connect it... it wasn't forcefeed with some gripping analogy relating it to facebook or how Jesus is like a cellphone. It was the Good News and nothing less and nothing more. At first I wasn't sure what to think about it. There was not too many people even there... probably because it didn't meet standards. But what are standards to someone who has been saved... "Is grace not enough that we can not just sit in church and take in scripture alone?" Then I opened up to it... I dropped my stupid expectations and just listened to the story of someone who died for me. My sins. We sang some hymns, and yes, with an organ. A total turnoff to some... I dropped my stupid guard and listened to what I was singing and I allowed myself to give into God's expectations.I loved it. A great service and just what I was lookiing for.
"Man's expectations only try to limit God. God's expectations will free humanity of their inabilities."
God's expectations require more than just being relevant, modern, and looking like the world... scripture is just scripture.... It's funny cause when people have read a book they criticise the mess out of movie... and  yet we make the church look like this huge motion picture cause we are afraid the book isn't enough...

The Preacher and His Trophy Wife

You… you’ve blossomed. Knowledgeable.  You say that you don’t talk eloquent in front of new believers/unbelievers. Careful in craft. You’re unbelievable. So exquisite. A new taste. God’s gift to mankind. I’m glad I got to meet you, you rare find. Churched, perched, preacher. Hey you, are you so comfortable that you’re the only one digging deeper. Full of hope. So dope. Thank God you came. The talent of every other follower you place – deface, criticize, prophesy , reprimand. Cause you’re legacy is bigger, higher, straight from… oh wait, you are GOD’S HANDS.

The pride of every man. Asserted, converted. You had a rough past too, yet you think you got life down better. You’re unique, a beautifully flawed treasure. It’s funny cause I thought humility was to make a man humble, not to make many stumble… and the ideology has been crumbled. Tunnel vision…Dimly lit You think you are so better fit for the lime light.

You run the race. Set pace. Dust flying all over thy face. You’re so good at dusting, to your own path you stay trusting. You, stupid, unconscious… perfection. But dude, you say your so dirty, Oh, so unworthy. I see you and think of Pharisees... misplaced, wordy, verbeeeeee.

I like your actions. With each one you gain so much interaction. Rather satisfaction. List of achievements so tall, your humility yet to be seen. Joyous. Triumphant. Sound the horns. I’ve think there’s more humility in a man looking at cheap porn behind closed doors. But please, do not think of me, that I’m trying to even the score. Sin is sin. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Message. Yeah, we do need to conceive truth. You are the voice who has the real choice. You talents and skills. So high above me. So high. When you listen to speakers speak and preachers preach you sigh. Righteousness. There are hard working men battling and raging, being worn thin and you think you have it better than them. There are servants of men and you think you have more talent buried in.

Stop proclaiming what you do. Stop posting about your truths. The right and left hand should not know what the others do. Young gun. Bible bearing piety. I eye thee. You’re so unaware you get so many blank stares as you put that “please like my comment or post underneath my fames” status up there. Many a man will pat you on the back. Good vibes you might rack. But God’s judgment on His leaders you will have stacked. God’s glory is not your trophy wife. It's ageless, holy, and sacred. We are dying, fickle, and unwise.

All of this. God detests. He detests this.

God is Relevant alone

 you've labeled irrelevant, confined, told that you are not needed. Faith has declined. The church has, by stupid standards, climbed. We stand on our own steeple... we above the world and it's people. We create fake art and are falling apart. Critics, slandering our pages, but we consider ourselves washed with blood, that we can play in the mud. We try to leave a mark, but we just make mud bubbles, a little thud. My God, is your message not relevant enough for this generation? Is your message not enough to create a salvation senesation? ARe you not relevant? Biblical scholars call you ageless, timeless, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, all powerfull, and UNCHANGING... If you are as you were.... then why do we fill the need to lable you as artificial, that we must paint you with reiteration. Add the substance take a new course... as if salvation wasn't relevant enough...Why must we take another human beings creation labled "secular" and then change it's message with a gospel dressing and ask for God's blessings? Why must we steal art and tear it's first meaning apart to become relevant? isn't God the point? But we don't know where to start? Cold art, reiteration, carve out of thick slabs of stone... but we don't stand on you alone... WE JUST CARVE OUT THE BRIME... But I was callous hands this time. I want to toil in the being God made me... If I am Christian then what I make should it only be sacrificial to the ONe? I alone am to say that name when the branding has already been done? So why steal art in the name of fun as if God should be shuned? Have we forsaken something? Do we mirror a mear image that we are incapable of casting an establishing kingdom's vision... that the WOrd be the WORD and stand alone... I mean I'm all for opening the door and using what the world has created... not to be a gated community or anything... But I'm frustrated thinking that this idea of taking other people's art and putting our "own" twist on it makes us relevant, truth, a light, some safe haven plight... I'm not about casting a safe atmosphere but casting out... sending a vision... is that not what the gospel is about? What is unnecessary, tressapassing on the toes of those we are called to save? We make ignorant pleas so that men would believe but should we criticize what we concieve and be willing to negate what we have programed behind our crippled, thick, overbearing walls? To be left into speach alone that every knee shall bow before this throne. I'm confused... utterly confused. I don't call what our hopes are at being relevant, modern era culture a replica of who made this temple a home... I won't do it. ANd maybe I'm thinking too critical... But I'd rather think too critical then to tie my hands to the world view of being relevant towards using the critically acclaimed. I'm sorry relevant church... but when it comes to you or the world... to both I'd rather be viewed in shame

REVAMPED FINAL: MY GOD THE CONQUEROR

MY GOD THE CONQUEROR!!! Give me sword and shield!!! Lend me your strength to vanquish my enemies and foes!!! Put them down… six feet beneath my toes!!! LISTEN TO MY BARBARIC POETRY AND PROSE… HAHAHAHAHA….ha

Kinda sounds dumb doesn’t it… Then why do we feel like this is the main type of love the Father has to show? Leaders of tomorrow… we are “way with words” prodigal. Screaming behind the curtains our majestic processions “we are the blind leading the blind!” Prayer, fast acting. Watch hard life retracting. In these prayers “Confide.” If we pray hard enough I’m certain this awkwardness, my laziness, and death will subside. I promise.

It’s like we try to PUNCH OUT brail into wind sails. A secret encoding of tall tails, colliding into our journey… fail. We damage our journeys sail with a message tarnished like a storm torn into. I feel better when I can just tell God when to pull me through.  

Stand still… hope. In my prayers I’m all about a narrow minded scope… ya dig? I’m fickle in my approach like an unproducing fig. Cause when times get near and tough I get pretty distraught and I’ve had enough.

I like to pull out my fair dosage of truth, and passion… that anxiety has left me not to ration. It’s funny cause um… cause when stress comes into motion it’s like I try to put true prayer into motion. And then afterwards I stop taking passes of true being that for those few moments of trial I thought I was seeking.

I take peeks and second glances, past this.  MY GOD CONQUEROR… Yeah, I like to feel good. Some sales pitch I got from my boyhood. It stood shrouded in a fine mist and I couldn’t resist. Who wouldn’t want open access to a God who died to serve this?

Genie in a bottle… I think next time when I pull you out I’ll go full throttle… I’m only in idle when I don’t need anything. But when I get banged I openly call on you the mighty, but otherwise take the back seat behind me. You’re truth, as some might say, has been stretched really hard to even appear in the slightest to be THE selling card. So please, until I call stand clear.

There a certain variables I define life with… living that is and it’s these; happiness, satisfaction, guaranteed. And I think your high standard is decreed for those that feed off the filth of society. They just kinda struggle as I eye thee. I find their practices weak at best, and don’t put my theory to the test cause unless I struggle I’m not praying to THAT GOD. I worship GOD THE CONQUEROR.