Knowing You’re Supposed To Be Like Jesus

Knowing you’re supposed to be like Jesus
And wanting to be like Jesus
Are not even remotely the same thing.

And leave it to the churchers who do not want it
To twist even that first part out of shape,
Such that only Jesus is supposed to be like Jesus,
And everyone else, a helpless, pitiful mess of a person
Who can do nothing but be thankful for a “grace”
That covers his sins, but cannot heal them―
That can make him grateful, but not make him better―
That counts him innocent, even as he keeps on sinning
That cannot teach him to say “no” to ungodly desires,
Or prompt him to work harder.

The idea that they are supposed to be like Jesus
Is not for them the grand opportunity it would be
To a hero-worshiper, but a curse―
A cold insistence of a legal code that not even God can
Prove to be invalid, but that Jesus himself skirts,
Holding open the back door to the theater
To let his non-paying friends in,
Because he’s cool like that.

They believe at once that they are supposed
To be like him, and not supposed to be like him.
And they believe at once that they owe him something
And that they do not owe anything.

And this is the duplicity that rules their unruly hearts.
They cannot make up their mindless minds,
Yet count it settled nonetheless.

And you can hide in that fog if you want to,
But I still see that you, in your heart of hearts,
Do not want to be like Jesus.
And this says more about you than all the testimonies
You could ever give.

And of course they’ll not listen to a nobody like me,
For they do not even listen to Jesus himself,
Who says hard things to them that they will not hear.
For even Jesus wants them to be like Jesus,
And they’ll not have it.

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