Some say God has a home
for the strong ones only
And yet he has a place
for the lost and lonely
Some say their popularity
will send them to his throne
And yet His heart’s pursuing
those who walk alone
Some say that God draws near
to those who win acclaim
But He’s drawn to every faiure
who feels the weight of shame
Some measure out thier lives
by all that they achieve
But his eye is on the hurting,
struggling to believe
Self-made men are many,
their trophies we behold
But He redeems the heartaches
of stories never told.

A Spoken Word Poem

I came to God with fashion sense

And clothes I bought at great expense

I knew the drill

All things down pat.

God said, I never wanted that.

I huddled with my life long friends.

Talk to strangers? That depends.

I loved the show from where I sat.

God said, I never wanted that.

I knew each song

I’ve heard them all

Each choral piece and worship call

I cringed when someone’s song fell flat

God said, I never wanted that.

My i-pod has a thousand songs

Of worship stars before the throngs.

On Sundays I step up to bat.

God says I never wanted that.

He says, I want your heart to sing

and worship as me as rightful king

To come with sacrificial praise

To honor me in all your days

To drop your mask and foolish pride

for they’re not the reasons that I died

I conquered death to make you whole

Your LOVE has been my greatest goal

To vow your love and make it true.

Your love is what I want from you.

There once was a church on a hill by the bay,
with a wonderful spirit of love, you might say,
till a ragged stranger came inside
and rumors abounded far and wide.
Some thought he came from a shelter or prison,
and feared he might cause the church shame or a schism.
He’d invite total strangers and give money away.
And he really didn’t care what the members would say.
His friends didn’t smell clean as most church members would,
and in the eyes of the deacons, he brought more than he should.
The pastor spoke discreetly of this ragged man,
“He doesn’t fit our strategy plan.”
Brother Rupert said, “Don’t you see?
He laughs too loud and sings off key!”
Clara was concerned about relations and such.
She said, “He plays with the children too much!”
Jed, the chairman of ministry troops,
said, “None of our leaders want him in their groups!”
But the ragged man went on his way,
serving the church on the hill by the bay.
Scrubbing the toilets and cleaning the floors—
these were the ragged man’s ministry chores.
On Sunday they dreaded his unsightly appearance
and prayed that he wouldn’t cause strange interference.
They said, “Our church has stood too long
to be tainted by him and his curious song.
This man’s a menace to this congregation!
He’ll tarnish our image and fine reputation.”
They were tired of this ragged man’s presence inside,
and they locked all the doors so he wouldn’t reside.
A wicked northern blew a blizzard their way
as the members sang hymns in the church by the bay.
They sang to drown out his normal arrival,
as the blizzard threatened the man’s mere survival.
As the church members sang, their voices grew stronger,
each heavenly note was held longer and longer.
The winds blew that storm to the bay like no other
and covered the corpse of that unwanted brother.
The storm passed and they went on their way,
the members of the church on the hill by the bay.
They didn’t see the heap of snow
nor the ragged man buried below.
Yet beneath his old gloves buried deep in the snow
were the wounded hands pierced by nails long ago.
If they had looked closer at this man with no bed,
they’d have seen thorn-driven scars on the brow of his head.
And if they had embraced him, they surely would have cried,
for they would have felt the sacred wounds on his back and his side.
And if they had sought to know this man so odd—
they would have met face-to-face—Holy—Omnipotent—God.

In the year
of disappointment,
loneliness,
fear,
In the year
of confusion,
desperation,
and chaos,

I saw the Lord.

My eyes had been blinded by amusement—toys,
savings and wealth,
dreams and aspirations.
In the midst of the sand castles of my own
self-importance,
my eyes were blinded by the temporal,
until an eternal God shook the doorposts of my soul.
He came to me, and I saw myself for who I was outside of Him:
naked,
dying,
cold,
starving,
and helpless.
He didn’t come in the sanctuary.
He didn’t come in the crowds.
He didn’t come in the ceremonies,[pullquote3 quotes=”true” align=”right” variation=”orange” cite=”Matt Tullos”]He didn’t come in the ceremonies, in the shifting dance of the day-to-day. He came into my deepest closet of hopelessness.[/pullquote3]

in the shifting dance of the day-to-day.
He came into my deepest closet of hopelessness.
He didn’t come with four laws.
He didn’t come with three points and a poem.
He visited me at midnight, when I least
expected to hear His voice.
He came to me at a time when my hopes were dashed,
when my future appeared bankrupt.
He came to me when every solid foundation seemed to collapse.
He came to me in the wilderness of my own destitution.
He came to me in the poverty of my own understanding.
He came to me when I laid down my toolbox,
my first-aid kit,
and my cookbook.
He came to me!
Hallelujah!
With a quick fix?
No.
He came to me!
With a list of seminars and books to read?
No.
He came to me,
and there was absolutely nothing I could offer in my own strength.
The masks, alibis, and diplomas faded under the light of His passionate gaze.
He didn’t need me.
He didn’t need my talents.
He didn’t need my knowledge, my money, or my influence.
On the contrary, He came to me because, for the first time in my life, I knew I was utterly helpless;
I didn’t have the answers.
For the first time in my life, I knew no word, no thought, no event would change me.
Only God,
Christ alone,
could change my heart.

He came to me!
He wrapped His arms around me and said,

My beloved, I’ve been waiting for you.

There once was a church upon a hill
where everything was fine until
the paint inside was getting old
and peeling in some spots, I’m told.
The pastor called a business meeting.
And after the preliminary meeting,
The deacons cried, “Come one! Come all!
What color should we paint each wall?”
They gathered in the sanctuary,
each determined and contrary.
Sister Gail said, “What do you think
about a very chartreuse pink?”
Brother Dave said to the crowd,
“Isn’t that a bit too loud?
I prefer a subtle blue.
It makes the walls look clean and new.”
Six women rebuked, “We wanted gold!”
It seems much warmer. Blue’s too cold!”
The pastor said, “I’m here more than all of you.
I agree with Dave. The walls should be blue.”
From that point on their voices grew stronger.
Each emotional plea became longer and longer.
Then a voice of strong and stern love
silenced the church as it spoke from above.
“You wonder why you can’t hear My call
when your greatest struggle is paint on the wall.
Paint your church the pale color of skin,
for you let no other races come in.
Paint your church a wealthy green,
for you ignore starvation that you’ve seen.
Paint it white and clean as uncalloused feet,
for you refuse to share My joy in the street.
I agree that your walls could be painted in blue,
for your hearts so cold are given to few.
You give many renditions of church as a game,
but you fail to give water in My Holy Name.
You pray using eloquent thees and thous,
and yet you forget about the heres and nows.
You struggle to be an earthly saint,
but My love must not be covered in paint.