Sunday, July 27, 2008

a prayer. a poem. a confession. an exhortation.

At least I don't bow down to any statues..

Daniel 3. (It's me)

Funny little story,

Nebuchadnezzar… storing up his glory—

Poor little guy

Better get his act figured out

Cause that's what' it's about..

But it's not just him,

that I can pass over with a whim,

Take a good look at yourself,

For once

Other than to fix your hair,

acting as if you didn't care

About what you wear,

or what your drive

Shiney -shine up that golden chariot, of mine

guzzling its gas-

So what if it doesn't last,

I'll just charge a back up-

Cha-ching-

The American dream-of thee I sing

Getting our way,

Day after day,

forgetting the poor and

Shutting the door to the enslaved & oppressed

Because we're afraid, or confused

and besides I'm way too busy,

And we don't know what one little ol' person can do,

So we write a check at the end of December

And feel good about just being a member.

Could this be idolatry?

Couldn't these all be idols?

Strutting our stuff

With the cigarettes we puff

It's me,

it's you,

We all act like fools,

Tooting our horns

Secretly checking out porn

Acting like we have it all together

Trying to weather

the pain,

of the ten pounds I gained by

avoiding the confession

I should have been telling

to my friend who asked, "Really, how are you doing?"



if I can just whip up a snippet

to avoid sharing the integrity that I lack

I'll put on a show

And receive a pat on the back,

It's the lie I believe

That all I need

Is to be "liked",

Esteemed, the crop & cream

But if I'm honest..

I am an idol,

I am an idolater.

I worship myself, my ideals, my ways,

(And I wouldn't mind if everyone else did the same)

I worship the stuff that I eat and drink every day

I don't even realize

I buy trinkets that decay—

Believing and hoping they will fill me,

make me feel good.

And they do,

For moments, days, and sometimes a week

It's not just the drugs, sex, & alcohol in which we seek

To find this fulfillment

It's the coffee, chips, and the target trips,

brand new threads and king sized beds

Complaining about my spouse,

The size of my house,

and paycheck,

Or any part of my body that I doubt

doesn't match up

with the air brushed models at grocery store check out.



But hey, at least I don't bow down to any statues…

3 comments:

Candice said...

LOVE this! Am so excited to see how God continues to use people in the PCC Community to worship Him through the arts. Thank you for your honesty, vulnerability, and challenging way you live your life. Many blessings!

Carla Maya said...

so good...so true.

Sandra said...

Thanks Tony, it's a great poem. So true, so hit home.