Once when I was young, I was told be saved so you don’t die. Be good and you’ll be praised. Love Jesus. He was raised. They made me cry about the cross, and we sang “this is the day, this is the day.” They hinted that goodness was hard.
I’m finding graves in what they say.
Lord, don’t let me fall.
I didn’t know what being like you was like at all.
Here we all have a church or we did or we could. Don’t you know I’ve always been good, always been good? I don’t look like you at all. I’d rather watch TV than read your word. Have you heard? I have brothers, sisters dying just to hold it, but the way we’ve told it…they are some other church.
Deny your name? Nobody’s asking. If it’s all the same, I denied myself last week.
I wish that they would beat me so I could know you. Silence me so I could show you…instead of me.
I’ve always been good. I’ve always been good. I don’t look like you at all.
I’m steeped in jealousy and heartbreak, but I won’t pray an hour for my own sake. I’m supposed to look like you? My skin is smooth, unscarred. My heart is diamond-hard. I’VE ALWAYS BEEN GOOD! And I don’t look like you at all.
I’d rather be politically correct than loving. Assert my rights, question those above me. You can’t have my coat. I won’t give you my money. Don’t ask for my time. You don’t even know me.
But I’ll put Christian on my shirt and on my car, inked on my hand. Don’t tell me that I can’t. it’s then I’ll take a stand.
I’d rather they hit me, kick me, bruise me, bleed me. Stop my heart, at least accuse me…of loving you too much.
If I were scarred, had some blood on my face….it would cover the lack of resemblance, the shameful way….i don’t look like you at all.
If they broke my ribs, would I start to feel like you? Tore my skin, would that help me too? Hold a gun to my head, and we’ll make this quick. I wouldn’t live for you, but I’ll willingly die like this.
So this is my plea: somebody persecute me!
I’m afraid I’ll never look like you at all until I let this world start to hurt me.
Oh Lord, have mercy upon me.