Poetry

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His Father’s house, a prayer place
Where men were meant to worship Him,
Where those from every tribe and race
Could come and pray and seek His face,
Now bustled loud with raucous din.

In righteous anger Christ expelled
The traffickers who bought and sold;
His holy heart by zeal impelled,
Irreverential trade He quelled—
A zeal the Word of God foretold.

Our hearts become exclusive space
If we by faith are found in Christ;
He’s purposed in this age of grace
To make our hearts His dwelling place
The temple of His Spirit’s life.

Should not the temple then be clean
Of merchandise that would defile?—
Profanities and things obscene
Should never reign, be even seen—
Cast out the things that would beguile!

May we respond with righteous ire
When traffickers entice our heart;
May we with zealousness aspire
To guard our thoughts with holy fire--
To Christ we've set our souls apart.

A prayer place my soul shall be,
A house of constant peace and rest,
A home of holy harmony,
A foretaste of eternity,
Indwelt by my Beloved Guest.

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