On the streets...
And the glass that reflected the neon will be crushed and disappear.
And the street cleaners go and the city stands still
And those puddles of puke leave a stain for the rain to clear.
But we remember...
It is time to go home and in the morning the city will rise,
Holding the secret of what it witnessed in its concrete creases;
Its people have sinned as their lives displayed fractures and pieces,
But no echo will be heard of their screaming and heaving and cries.
But we remember...
For we hear it still, we have soberly recorded those moments that alcohol erases,
From consciences inebriated, and minds flailing to find,
Some sense in the madness of another drunken Saturday night.
For us, held before God now, there are new names and faces.
Because we remember...
Richard, perplexed and so sure that he had it all sussed:
"What's our motivation for a people possessed?"
"Why waste time on a binge-drunk generation?"
"Your faith is, at best, some cruel trick of the imagination."
Andy sat in a door-step with a dullness deeply set in his eyes,
No expectations of divine mercy, anticipating only the lies.
And for a minute I wonder has faith come more easily for me
Who is housed, clothed and fed by a seemingly benign deity?
Two brown-eyed men in a car with a window down, asking me over,
"Who do I work for?" "God!" I say naively, and the atmospehere's changing,
"You should convert to Islam" and their faces are frowning,
As I call on the Saviour, I am proud to be naming...
"Jesus is a prophet."
"No, he is the Saviour of the world!"
"No, the Saviour of the World!"
"No, he's the Saviour of the World!"
And my heart is racing as I smile and continue facing,
These men who seem not to let me go,
Until I realise I've become captive to my very own will,
And smiling and turning, wish them peace, assured God loves me still.
I am a little changed by the encounter and reflect on my jealous desires
To protect the status of the one I serve,
And wonder what my purpose is out here on this night
And wonder what the Lord would make of my verbal fight.
And my prayer partner has stopped praying,
He has faithfully stayed up til 4.
And he texts me to say the work will now start,
And it does for the sirens are blazing
And for the first time I detect fear in what had been a fearless heart.
Across the city we are tearing to a club with its blue lights projecting,
A trip to Oceania, some underwater lagoon we are sadly expecting,
For the people are drowning on their own dark consuming,
As Satan prowls with his drug-pushers looming.
And one girl unconscious in vomit, lies helpless on a toilet floor
And now physically manifest are the signs of this spiritual war.
Her modesty's hiding and her dignity can not be found
And child-like she sobs and collapses again to the ground.
And I remember it still
And I want to go out there again
So I pray God's protection on street pastors everywhere
So that God's Kingdom might extend into the depth's of the devil's lair.
Ordained Anglican. Thinking out loud about church.