How can I sit by and accept the striking fact that all these heart are dead?
How can allow my arrogant self to silently sit as if He never bled?
How can a church rise in numbers and nonchalantly speak the Word
while simultaneously ignoring the one whose bruised and unheard?
Go sip your coffee and eat your pastries while death knocks at the door
for this apathy is what, even more so than sin, is killing the whore.
For indifference is our right hand and disgust, our left;
if only we could pay someone to reach out to the theft.
We fail to realize that we are the thieves,
stealing the joy of the one who believes
that there's more to life than clothing and shoes
and games and houses and filled up pews,
more than our safety and comfort and knowledge
and luxury and lust and "Oh, which college?"