There is a time to be born
And a time to die.
There is a time to shout out
And a time to be quiet.
There is even a time to gather stones.
But what of those?
I really donít know.
But down through the pages
Of Godís written Word
I see that He has always reserved
A time to be angry.
What makes God angry?
I read of other gods and
See His jealousy
But how does that affect me today?
I certainly donít bow down to
Statues of wood and clay
Or do I?
Maybe the clay god I serve
Is really myself,
Proved by all the time I spend
Pursuing things Heís already given me,
Trophies already won and
Paid for by the finished work of the cross.
Self-worth, purpose, a position in His Kingdom,
Gifts of service to spend on others,
Words of life to bring
Like glasses of cool water
In the desert of loneliness
Where so many live.
Maybe the jealousy He feels comes from
My attention being riveted
By the fleeting fame and recognition
I crave and seek through
Demanding that my position
Should be exalted above His will.
Iím beginning to believe that there is
A time for me to be angry
Yet without sin.
But the only kind of sinless anger that lives
Is letting those things that
Stir the heart of God
I need to be angry enough to
Find the heart of God
Amongst all the glitter and excess
That surround me.
I need to scrape back all the layers of faces
I wear, and that I see on others,
To find the part yet celestial despite
Time spent on planet earth.
And when I find the beating part of God,
That part reserved for me to feel and hear
And wear on my sleeve,
I will be complete in a way that is beyond
The physical realm.
I will finally see them:
The imprisoned and impoverished.
Then and only then
Will I be angry without sin
I will be full of the passion that results
In a revolution of the soul,
A revolution against the systematic thinking
That keeps me imprisoned in flesh,
That denies the Spirit to speak the truth to me.
When the passion runs it's course
And heaven's fire is in my veins,
I will finally to be free to embrace
The time to be angry.
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