Last night I finished a poem I started a few days ago. I want to share it carefully, because I want it to be received in the same spirit in which it was written. This is not a dig. It’s not aimed at anyone. If anything, it’s aimed at me.
I’m not sharing this from a place of perfection, but from a place of transparency. There’s a risk in that, the risk of being misunderstood, but I felt it was worth taking. My prayer is simple: that my heart is right, and my intentions are pure. If that’s the case, then I pray this challenges you and blesses you. Here it is...a poem from a non-poet:
*The Cross Has Gone Missing*
It seems the cross is missing.
Somehow it has been misplaced.
We used to fervently sing about it,
It’s gore, it’s pain, and it’s saving grace.
The center of most sermons,
From the pulpit it was told,
With weeping, passion, and conviction.
But I’m afraid that fire has grown cold.
The cross seems to be missing,
But not of the ornament I speak,
But of that daily burden of self-denial
That Christ did plainly teach.
It seems the cross is missing.
I fear it’s been replaced
With anthems born of fleshly fire
Where His cruel agony is seldom proclaimed.
We traded thorns for comfort,
Exchanged truth for what feels right,
Preaching crowns without the suffering,
Resurrection without the night.
Where are the tears at altars?
Where is the trembling call?
Where are the saints who die daily,
Who surrender all in all?
Where are the bowed-down altars,
Where knees would meet the ground?
When the cross was lifted higher,
Broken hearts could still be found.
But now we stand upright, so distant,
Hands raised yet hearts unbent,
For when the cross grew silent,
So did the posture of repent.
The cross was never polished,
It was rugged, stained, and bare,
It demanded all of everything,
Not a portion, not a share.
It calls us out of darkness,
It crucifies our pride,
It nails the flesh for sacrifice
And leaves no place to hide.
Where has the cross gone?
Has it been cast aside?
Buried beneath performance,
Draped in religious pride?
Yet still it stands in power,
Though many turn away,
A blood-stained invitation
That still demands we stay.
So, bring back the Calvary message,
Let it echo, let it ring!
The cross before the crown,
Death before the King.
For there is still redemption
In that crimson, sacred cost.
But we must first find our way back…
Back to the cross.
-Timothy J. Whiseant
English
