Condition

It’s hard to explain it all.
Some things only make sense in your spirit,
Which is where you really live.
The problem with that is complicated.
It seems I allow more people access to my spirit
Than to my body.
So I appear unscathed.
I appear fresh, optimistic, enthusiastic.
I appear a lie.
For the part of me that really lives is mangled.
Ravaged by doctrines and rules
Which create miserable people.
Answers that fuel pride and choke mercy
Sleep with men of faith
And produce spiritually abused offspring.
O that spiritual purity would reign
In the hearts of those whose lips cannot be silent.
O that love for sinners would overflow
Even more toward saints.
When you lie to yourself long enough,
I’ve heard it said, you begin to believe what’s false.
You believe it’s great and proof of God’s hand,
But I believe it’s time to admit
That something is terribly wrong.