The Lighthouse

  

 

 

They have painted the walls

And bedecked the pews

And now with the carpeted floor

You can take off your shoes.

 

The sound system is great

Of the professional type

And the church members

Pursue an emotional hype.

 

It used to be a look out

And a warning to passing ships

But more recently, you see,

All of that has slipped.

 

As a result of this upgrade

The rocks are full of damaged ships,

No warning forth coming

Of the riptide’s tricks.

 

From a look out station

To a social club

Now with all kinds of entertainment

And prosperity at its hub.

 

 

Once they could hear

The crashing of the waves

And more often than not

The shipwrecked would be saved.

 

But now they are caught up

With entertainment and fun

And many are dancing

To the devil’s drum.

 

Miscreants are strictly forbidden

To enter therein,

In these hallowed walls

There can be no sin.

 

Once it was a hospital

That reached out to the sick

But now derives great benefit

From the famous and the rich.

 

It now makes a statement

Professionalism is the drive

And even a blind man can see that

As soon as he arrives.

 

Wrecked souls are now comfortable

In their forlorn state

Free to love if they so desire

Or continue to hate.

 

Meanwhile come the cries

From those on the rocks

But there is none to the rescue,

The look out has stopped.

 

 

The noise of the entertainment

Rises above the waves

And the prior lifesavers

Are now the devil’s slaves.

 

Once they were uncomfortable

But were doing a great job,

Now their bellies are full

They’ve become lazy slobs.

 

Awake from your sleep

All ye that are slumbering,

You are now no different

From them that are wandering.

 

In your mega church

You might be the go to member

But in your spiritual reality

You are a dying ember.

 

The true light has gone out

The lighthouse is no longer,

You may appear very active indeed

But you walk in your slumber.

 

You have become at ease

With your spiritual disease

And now you are particularly please

Though infected with the devil’s fleas.

  

This is an indictment

I need not say on whom

But Jesus is standing without

And asking “Is there room?”

 

Room for the Saviour

To make your body his temple,

Time to return to the lighthouse

That was once pure and simple.

 

 

A safe haven for souls

That are strewn across the rocks,

A welcome lighthouse

In its God-determined spot.

 

With its beam reaching out

To the lost and forlorn,

A constant warning to those

That need to be warned.

 

Stewart Russell (c) January 2020