Robert Stevenson | @ap_527
Because your spouse/boo/best friend/neighbor/cousin/coworker/adult children/college-age grandchild won’t tell you, and/or you never listen when they do:
Dear Ultra-Christian, dear Super Saint,
Couldn’t quite believe it, but rumor’s you ain’t,
Even thinking ‘bout going to the church on this Sund’.
You heard I was coming; might spoil the fun,
Of being gooder and greater and holier than me;
The thrice yearly visitor, the C-M-E.
I come every Christmas 'cause my neph’s in the play,
I come once in May for Ma on Mother’s Day,
I’ll be here this Easter cause Gram said I should
And my ___________ won’t shut up ‘bout “God’s been too good!”
Okay then, FINE. I’ll set my dumb ‘larm,
Three Sundays out of fifty, I don’t see the harm,
I’ll hear ‘bout the cross and I’ll hear ‘bout sin,
I’ll hear ‘bout Jesus… ...coming back again?
Wait, what?! I don’t get it. That don’t make any sense!
And what the heck on earth is a “Luh-vit-uh-kiss”?
‘scuse me sir, where’s the bathroom?
No ma’am, don’t need a tract,
No, I’m not a member. Yes, maybe I’ll come back,
I’m sitting in “your seat”? Sorry, didn’t see your name,
(and you wonder why I’d rather stay home and watch the game),
How come I’m not singing? Cause I don’t know the words!
How’m I supposed to know lyrics to songs I’ve never heard?
Besides, this song’s boring. I thought you “loved God,”
Did all the good songwriters get better paying jobs?
Relax! Just a joke! Why are Christians so mean?
The scowling-est “joyous” folks I’ve ever seen,
So my coat smells like weed, so I had a quick beer,
Guess I’m the only one who’s “sinned” up in here,
Your rudest thump morals, your avoiders boast change,
Though I have heard some truly remarkable claims…
Here’s your shot,
Ninety minutes I’ll spot,
So I double dog dare you with cherries on top,
Show me Christ’s way beats what I’ve already got.
I dare you to love me what Jesus was like,
(Y’know I can’t find my Bible, so I’m reading you, right?)
Don’t judge me, don’t glare me, don’t crowd me, don’t pout,
Don’t frown me, don’t clown me, don’t make me walk out.
My grammar is bad, my cadence is whack,
Your God forgives sin but not my syntax?
I come thrice a year, and that makes you sick,
Yet you wonder why I’d rather Chill & Netflix?
I’m called C-M-E, but I might really be “called”,
“God works in mysterious ways” after all,
So don’t sell snake oil about wanting me saved
And the day I
do everything in your power
Robert Stevenson is a Jesus-loving goofball from Indianapolis who believes life is too serious to be so serious. He teaches Sunday School to middle schoolers, probably because he's as mentally developed as they are. He's a bit of a clown so he married a beautiful woman who's addicted to giggling. He actually sits close to the front row. Don't tell Matt. Robert enjoys SNES games, cantaloupe, sci-fi, biblical cross-referencing, shattering stereotypes, and speaking in the third person. YOU can contact him on Twitter @ap_527.
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