Seeing Eye to Eye

 

 

There was this woman

That I heard about,

Her pastor was hard hearing

So she had to shout.

 

Let me explain this

And I will then move along,

First it appeared to me

They were both headstrong.

 

I knew neither of them

But that’s how it appeared,

Why they never agreed

At first that was not clear.

 

When she wanted change

He did not

And when change came about

She was hot.

 

From the time he came

This was the case,

All of his plans and ideas

She considered a waste.

 

I really must confess

That the pastor tried his best

But trying to meet her halfway

That was the ultimate test.

 

He tried on several occasions

He wanted to reconcile

But she wanted none of that

That was not her style.

 

She kept him at arm’s length

So that he never got close,

“I liked the other pastor,”

Some had heard her boast.

 

This went on for a while

And it became a real strain

Whereat the pastor decided

There must be a change.

 

He decided on a visit

“Yes,” he would go to her home

And after thinking a while

He decided to do it alone.

 

He asked one of the members

For directions to her home

And as I earlier indicated

He went there on his own.

 

He walked right up the path

That led to her door,

Every window was shut

Need I say more?

 

He decided there and then

She was not at home

But decided to call out

Rather than use his phone.

 

He called out and called out

But he heard no one,

“I’ll do one more thing,” he thought

“And then I’ll be gone.”

 

He stooped right down

To peep through the keyhole

When he heard her say,

“But pastor you are bold.”

 

The pastor paused a bit

And then he gave his reply,

“At least on this occasion,” he said

“We are seeing eye to eye.”

 

Stewart Russell © October 2018

 

Moron’s Christmas Morning

 

 

Moron is in church

One early Christmas morning

Fretting ‘bout how he had to wake up

Before the day was dawning.

 

He had to bathe in cold water

And all like then was still shivering,

Only to come to the village church

He had planned on never visiting.

 

The jacket was feeling heavy

And the tie choking he

And these people singing and clapping

While he feel like misery.

 

 

And Simpleton, his wife,

Trying to get him to calm down

But he getting louder and louder

And his face screwed in a frown.

 

“How long will they sing”

In anger and frustration, he asked.

“For as long as they need to

Or until you remove that mask.”

 

Unlike two Christmases before,

COVID-19 had all but disappeared

So, the people were sitting close up

With little or no fear.

 

 

Simpleton meant the frown

That Moron had constructed in anger,

You see, he had to wake up early

And for him this was no pleasure.

 

And besides, the shoes were tight

And burning up his toes

And he wanted to take them off

As well well as the stupid clothes.

 

But then the preaching began

And Simpleton said that was it

And admonished him to stop squirming

And button up his lip.

 

This was the part he hated most;

These preachers had no end

And some of the things they often said

Drove him round the bend.

 

However, the last he could remember

Were two punches to his side:

The result of his wife's assault

And he quickly opened his eyes.

 

“If ever there was,” she said,

“That was a rude awakening.”

You see when her pastor was preaching

Everybody had to be listening.

 

So, it was either he listened

Or be disturbed again

And he knew that the very next time

There would be more pain.

 

 

Christmas was the only time

That Moron went to church

And Simpleton always did her utmost

To keep him alert.

 

But needless to say,

This proved to be quite a task

For Moron, her husband was never willing

To do anything she asked.

 

The best part of church

Was when church came to an end,

And the shorter the church service

The less it would offend.

 

When the service finally ended

Moron’s applause was the loudest

For now, he could go home

And get the rest of his rest.

 

Without fear of bruised ribs

He could then sleep all he wished

For even on Christmas morning

This was what he relished.

 

Therein is the summary

Of Moron’s Christmas morning

And I find it so incredibly boring

That I am already yawning.

 

 

Hey, I don’t mean the service

Or even Moron’s wife, Simpleton

But my reference re incredibly boring

Relates to Moron.

 

Stewart Russell © December 7, 2022

 

The Altar Call

 

I remember while growing up

There was the altar call,

It is not as prominent these days

To my mind it has taken a fall.

At the end of the message

There would be an invitational song,

Back then they were very ardent

And that invitation would be long.

It would begin with the preacher

Followed by the song leader

And if that were not enough,

A plea would be made by the pastor.

Older members would leave their seats

And would go and grab a youth

And would march him up to the altar,

Trust me, I am telling the truth.

It was like the only way to be saved

Was by kneeling at the altar rail,

Not at home by your bedside,

That and all other places would fail.

  

Fashioned after Billy Graham

That prolific evangelist,

You did not want to leave the church

And that invitation opportunity miss.

At the altar were all types:

The frightened ones and the emotional,

The forced ones and the imitators

Even the I don’t know why people.

I once heard a pastor say,

Be careful what you say down here.

Everybody is not coming for what you think

So, when you open your mouth, beware!

A word to the wise is sufficient

I will leave you to ruminate on that,

All kinds of people would go to the altar

But salvation was not always the fact.

Whether all were saved I could not tell,

That is way outside of my purview,

An individual would have to tell for himself

Hence, I could not know for you.

What I do know that I can tell

Is that true salvation is evidentiary,

For once the Holy Spirit indwells a heart

A changed life is the reality.

The altar at which the sacrifice occurs

Is the altar of one’s heart,

That’s where the penitent dies to sin,

That is where salvation starts.

It’s not the rail at the front of a church

Or even kneeling beneath a cross

But the sincere cry from a sinner’s heart

That recognizes he is lost.

He could be anywhere, as a matter of fact,

When by the Spirit he is arrested,

That for him is his altar call

And the offer in which many have invested.

A poem or song on the Internet

Could be the means of your altar call,

I would suggest, should this happen to you,

Positively respond, no longer stall.

Right there you can find the Saviour,

The Shepherd who is calling to you,

Right then you can find sweet communion

I have found it and so can you.

Stewart Russell © April 2020

Know the Difference

Who or what is your calling?

Who or what is your hope?

For whom or what are you waiting?

Is it Christ, your pastor or the Pope?

Confused, convoluted and conquered

The state of many a Christian

Charged and ready to do “mischief”

Rather than commit to Christ’s “mission”.

Devoted to a “church of Christ”

Rather than to the “Christ of the Church”,

Unsettled because of distinctions

And always appear to be in search.

This might be you or it may not be

But give a listen whatever your state,

Some terms can be rather confusing

So let us some distinctions make.

“Christianity” and “Churchianity”

Are the first I will put on your plate,

We have exchanged the former for the latter

And now “my church” has become the state.

There is no church like my church

My church is the “church of choice”,

The church that’s alive is worth the drive

Come and hear God’s voice.

In my church there are “apostles”

In the others there are “apostates”,

We are the “one and only church”

Where only ordained persons officiate.

There is one “flock” and many “folds”

Some denominations claim them both

And sometimes in their pronouncements

They bind their members to an oath.

Between “organism” and “organization”

We really need to differentiate,

The Church is a “family” not a “faction’

There is no need to hate.

  

The church must be Christ-Centred

Since it is the body of Christ

But often it is Council-Centred

As though a council paid its price.

The “sect” overrides the “Saviour”

And its “traditions” obsolesce the “truth”,

The replacement of the “Individual” by the “Institution”

Is evidenced by abundant proof.

Through the institution many are “deluded”,

To the same they make a “profession”,

Severely lacking in their “devotion to Christ

And denying the Holy Spirit’s “possession”.

The Church possesses a rich “heritage”

As chronicled in the Acts of the Apostles

But many “heresies” have become obvious

Through the infiltration of ungodly people.

The “church building” becomes the emphasis

Rather than the focus being “Christ’s Body”,

My church becomes “The Only One”

And not like the others: “One of the Only”.

Believers are called to be “separate”

But many have striven to be “separatists”,

Somewhat like the Scribes and Pharisees:

These were ignorant in their bliss.

These were “reformed” not “transformed”

And they conformed to a creed

But they ignored the “born-again” call

And premised their righteousness on their deeds.

Many today are earnest churchgoers

But they are bored to death

For they having not been born-again

Have experienced neither peace nor rest.

These sit in their churches and brood

Or they roam from place to place

Hoping to find the “Church of Choice”

While the “Chosen Church” they cannot trace.

They may even search the yellow pages

Trying to find such a church

But won’t find the “blood washed church” there

No matter how hard they search.

The Bible is where they will find it

Not in the latest telephone directory,

The Church is a family not a faction

And the Holy Spirit ensures its unity.

It is based on the apostles’ doctrine

Jesus Christ being the chief cornerstone,

It is an “organism” not an “organization”

And the Holy Spirit sets its tone.

Its message is the Gospel of Jesus Christ

The good news of God’s salvation,

Its mission is to reach the lost for Christ

Across all ethnicities and in all locations.

Stewart Russell © July 2018