You play your golf on the country club course
As an expensive source of pleasure, but then
Turn your back on the beggar with no remorse;
You eat your ribeye steak and drink fine wine,
But never consider the starving child
In the cold, wild streets of your city;
You have no pity, no remorse for the course
You have taken in life, and never think twice
About vice as you sit in your nice, plush pew
In church and only lurch forward in sleep,
Then awaken to peep at your golden watch,
Counting the time till the church bells chime;
You pay half your tithe and care even less;
After all, the mess in the world’s not your fault;
It’s the worthless bums and scum of the earth
Who persist to insist on homes, food and water,
And you curse at their plight as you nurse anger,
Hoping they’ll eventually take flight elsewhere,
But you do pray and pay your bills and play
With your kids after making your best bids
On the next football game, and pride yourself
For taming your bad appetites (mostly, at least)
Claiming fame in the community as a good man,
An unsullied citizen, honorable community man,
An elder in the congregation,
Who votes right in every election,
And . . .
You’re no more than a bramble bush Christian!
Figs are not gathered from thorns, nor are grapes picked from a bramble bush.
Gospel of Luke 6. 44
Note: Originally published in September 2016, now republished due to some renewed interest as well as for new reader-followers (as, hopefully, an humble blessing.) Peace to one and all!