Lord, we want to hear:
    “Peace, prosperity, security.”
Standing in your spotlight:
    “Favored, chosen, beloved.”
Legends in our own minds:
    entitled, spoiled, confused.

We cannot hear the prophets:
    “Polluted, shamed, rejected.”
Cannot read the signs:
    “Renounced, disowned, detested.”
Dazzled by our own light:
    blinded, fumbling, stumbling.

In time, reality exposes myth,
    the sacred canopy collapses;
fault lines shift in motion,
    moving us out, away;
no longer center stage,
    basking in your light.

We are upstaged at last,
    by a borrowed room,
    an empty cross,
    a vacant tomb.
Only remnants left behind:
    bread and wine,
    grave clothes folded.
And questions that haunt me:
    who was this?
    why would you?

Good news, they say,
    without superiority,
    without security;
an upside down gospel:
    not served but serving,
    not power but weakness;
and a day to remember:
    in weakness we are strong,
    in losing life it is found.

My Lord, I do believe,
    help my unbelief.