Docutrines of Grace

In full disclosure:

I think I always knew

You wouldn't choose

Me.  Every weekend, singing

Your songs, something about that

Harmony rang hollow in the space

Between my soul and solar

Plexus.  There were potted tulips

By the podium last time I dragged

Myself to Your house of praise. 

It was high spring.  I haven't returned.

Now everything is falling and rotting

Like Your greatest disciples said this

World would. I was going to be one

Of them once, a warrior for You, at least

I told myself—but there was always

That falling, rotting doubt stuck deep,

Like glass embedded in my sole, scraping

As I tried to march toward You. 

I've read some books and I know now

That You built this into me:

The Blood of the Lamb

Is only enough for so many,

After all. 

Welcome to the cosmic kickball game:

I'm back in middle school gym class

Waiting against the wall

God and the Devil dividing up teams

For the Armageddon playoff.

I'm straining forward when You look at me

And there's this glow in Your eyes like

Pity—not enough, though, to change

Your choice.  You need a faster runner,

A stronger kicker, and I'm left watching

As they heed the call to Your side. 

Irresistible grace

Means they couldn't say no if they

Tried, like total depravity

Means for all my desperate glances

I'm powerless when the Adversary comes.

We all go to our separate locker rooms

Just like you planned it before the dawn

Of time. Remember that,

When you preheat the lake of fire for me.

Do I get a consolation prize?  All

These years running after You

Seem wasted if I was never

Meant to catch up.  Your best

Scholars wrote books on election

And they say only You elect:

My choice is predestined.

Maybe that's why Holy Writ

Turns to ash in my mouth.

In a limited atonement economy

There's no upward mobility;

My perseverance never meant a

Damn thing, but pardon me if I can't

Take my damnation like a man. 

I have a few questions before I begin

My weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Before You formed me in the womb

You knew me and marked me to burn:

What kind of god is that?  Will You

Answer for Yourself, Adonai,

Or as kindling for the flames am I

Still unworthy of speech? Our Father

Who Art In Heaven, You have

To say something

Abba

Daddy

Please

I don't know

Why You're doing this

I'm smaller and weaker

And I know I was never

Your favorite son

But I'm still your son, dammit,

I'm still your son