A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,
WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC
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AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A CHRISTIAN
And you call yourself a Christian.
Tell me how are we to know?
By the love we have one unto another.
Tell me why it doesn’t show.
Do you engage in works of mercy?
Are you compassionate and kind?
Do you like to feed the hungry,
Give drink to the thirsty?
Is any poor child left behind?
And have you harbored any strangers?
Or even kept their bodies from the cold?
When people lose their homes,
Do you leave them all alone,
Unattended, on the dark side of the road?
And you call yourself a Christian.
Tell me how are we to know?
By the love we have one unto another.
Tell me why it doesn’t show.
Do you visit those in prison?
Or are they out of sight and out of mind?
Do you ever see their tears
When you lock them up for years,
And never even charge them with a crime?
Have you beaten any swords into plowshares?
Or do you live and die by the sword?
Have you learned forgiveness,
Or did you bear false witness
To lead our men and women into war?
What will you say when you finally meet your maker?
That you cast out many devils in his name?
He will say: Depart from me,
You worker of iniquity,
For you have only used my name in vain.
And you call yourself a Christian.
I think you’ve got an awful lot of nerve.
For the Lord has said to me:
By the fruit we know the tree.
Your actions speak much louder than your words.
Watauga County, North Carolina, 2005
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