One Alienated Man
By Patricia Backora, author of the book
Tough Love in Christís Millennium
Which you can order online from: http://www.publishamerica.com
Iíd better stop singing so joyfully.
Those gloomy mummies are staring at me.
Why wonít anyone sit near me?
Do I have cooties?
Why wonít anyone talk to me?
What makes them act so snooty?
They came to church just to show off
Smug little smiles, noses aloft
Iím tempted to go hang out at the bar
With people whom life has likewise scarred.
How embarrassing, my vast, empty pew
How everyone turns to stare at you.
Iíd better sit closer to the rear.
Why do I even waste my gas coming here?
What a stale sermon, what deadpan faces.
Theyíre hardly sitting in heavenly places.
This place reminds me of a morgue.
Are they staging this show to honor the Lord?
Pastorís barred me from church committees
Till I learn to live responsibly.
Those proverbs he picked stung like a bee
Preaching on sloth, he stared holes through me.
Hard on its heels came a sermon on tithing
He hollered real hard and had me a-writhing.
The only time I see him excited
Is when itís time to feather his nest.
He thinks itís my fault Iíve been laid off
And life is so unrelentingly rough.
Iím doing my best to be patient, though.
Iím not so sure where else I could go.
I haven't found a single friend.
Iíll never seek Pastorís prayers again.
He had that ďoh, noĒ look on his face.
That wasnít a very sincere handshake.
I might as well just head on home.
I feel so stupid, standing here alone
Unneeded, ignored, unable to mix
With everyone else in their close-knit cliques.
Theyíre snug as a bug in their cozy cocoon
Hoping Christ wonít rapture them soon
Away from their toys to realms above
To ask them how they invested His Love.
Far less risky to worship at home
Iíll flick my remote for my weekly dose.
Iíll get my religion from TV Land
With propped up feet and a beer in my hand.
Who can blame me for thinking itís better
Than cooling my heels in a refrigerator?
I just donít belong in Godís elite corps
Iíd rather go elsewhere to serve the Lord.
If Jesus was the same as them,
I wouldní t want much to do with Him.
Itís been six long months now, and what have I gained
From going to church again and again?
I should be taking this nap in my bed
Wish I had a pillow for my nodding head.
That sermon sounds so very refined
Christ redefined for churchified minds.
I feel like a martyr for enduring this church
Iíd better resume my endless search.
Where on earth will my long search cease?
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