Facing my accusers. A Poem.

Facing my accusers–
on Facebook.

Static pictures giving the half-illusion
that I have a chance of knowing them by their words,
interpreting tone, syntax, intention aright.

I am, it seems by implication, at least partly in league with Lucifer,
the “bright one” who,
I am told,
challenged God with a faction,
and deceived humankind in the Garden.

Funny: I haven’t demonized them (yet, much).
Funny: How disagreement about sex
goes straight to “having itching ears”
and spiritual warfare.

Wild bulls of Bashan surround me?
They may gore me?

Facing my accusers,
all I can do is sing,

“My hope is built on nothing less
than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame
but wholly lean on Jesus’ Name.

On Christ the Solid Rock I stand;
all other ground is sinking sand,
all other ground is sinking sand.”

I wonder if they will stop circling.
I wonder if they will believe me,

or if our collective cognitive distortions will throw up,
“This people honours me with their lips…”
“Having a form of godliness, they deny the power thereof.”
But, strange thing
(strange grace?)

I wonder if it matters,
facing my accusers.


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