If Jesus had come down as the Chief Head Religious Guy and wore a crown and spoke beautifully in the temples and churches, few would remember him. I certainly would not have gone to the temple or church to see him.
I would seek out sin. I would seek validation of my self through the brokenness of others. No? We pull binoculars to our eyes once there is a crash on the race track. We stand up to see the fight at the hockey game. We rubberneck passing an accident. The most popular shows on TV? Daytime soaps. Pop-psychology talk shows. CSI:SomewhereElse. All owe their success to the audiences’ obsession with peoples’ pain and loss.
So if God wants to get my undivided attention, he would need to appear a loser. The fact that He chooses the cross as the stage, upon which He is glorified, is no accident. He know us all too well. He knows we will flock to that stage. And it is from this stage, in the deepest pit of human depravity that the Son of God is glorified.
And He speaks for all of us
and to each of us
from that stage.
We are drawn to the spectacle,
the absurdity of
And it is then,
when we are selfishly seeking
that elusive something
that might somehow
sate the insatiable within,
that we find Him finding us.
We could, and often do,
blindly seeking satisfaction
we could not turn away
Either way, it is:
by ric booth
blinded by anger we rile as we churn
jumping impatient we crave for a turn.
fallen in love with our refuse and scum,
dying to laden our hearts up with some
why do we do this and why even care?
filled with deep hunger, we linger and stare.
what is the purpose and why are we here?
worshiping trash and ignoring our fear.
raging, refusing to turn from our sin.
night is our love so of course we hate Him.
lost in the crowd with those glances we steal,
pushing away while all longing to feel.
savor our filth while we run with the mob.
how did this happen, our garbage our god?
knowing we never would turn from our sin,
Love condescends to just smear us on Him.
rolls in our mud, is the harbor of light
dub Him a fool, while enrapt with our blight.
marred on His face is our slime and our waste.
rubberneck sinners, we think we are safe.
striking, confusing, and reeking of sin.
knowing we never would turn to just Him.
evil says, “foul! we must turn from those eyes!”
captive refusal, agape as He cries,
“Father, forgive them.” those brimming with glee
who now so ever not turning will see.
Published at UtmostChristianWriters.com, © 2006 Ric Booth