Ephesians
Why is the trumpet not sounding our song?
We were properly warned in the letters
of Paul and then the Lamb Himself.
Yet now we stand here, slouched and dejected,
wondering where to cast the blame.
Desolation surrounds us, and
the howling wind fills the oppressive air with sand.
We cough and spit incessantly, but the grit
stubbornly remains in our mouths.
A chaotic and destructive disunity
has replaced all sense of brotherly love among us.
One thing was still in our favor
when the Lamb dispatched His letter:
We hated the Nicolaitans.
But then “tolerance” became our creed,
and slowly our hate turned to indifference,
and in turn indifference was transformed
prophetically into the love of idols.
Surely we have forgotten our first love.
Our brothers in Philadelphia are rewarded fully
but our lampstand has been removed,
and now we ponder the ruins before us
where once stood a temple.
The Majority have found a way to coalesce
with the World,
but we few who have stayed, the Remnant,
kneel in the sand weeping, with our hands heavenward,
in ardent acknowledgement of our failure.
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