I was going through some old things I had written a number of years ago and came across the following poem. I was inspired to write this after talking to a young man on Mill Ave. one night. For those that don't know about Mill Ave. it is probably one of the most evangelised areas in our state. It seems like every time a Church wants to witness to people Mill Ave. is where they go and much of that witnessing is done through street corner preaching or handing out tracts. The young man I spoke with was raised in a Christian home. His dad was a pastor, who was also an abusive alcoholic. One night when his dad was beating on his mom, he ran away from home and was living on the streets around Mill Ave. In his mind Christianity represented everything his dad was and he wanted nothing to do with it.

Over the last couple years I have really been exploring what it means to live an authentic Christian life and what that means in my relationships with other believers and those outside the church. During this time of exploration I have really shifted my views on how we are supposed to reach out to those who come from a different paradigm than ourselves. Now that I look back I think this encounter is what really started this journey. I hope and pray we will all discover how to be effected witnesses for the truth to a hurting and dying world.


"Repent, turn from your wicked ways and be saved"

I hear these words all the time
Do these people even have a clue?
Have they ever been in my shoes?
Do they know that I know the truth?
Do they know that I was raised as a Christian?
Do they know my dad was a pastor?
A pastor on a liquid diet
Do they know that I used to watch him preach love at church
And then beat my mom at home?
Or are they blinded by their own zeal?

What can they offer me that I haven't already seen?
I've seen their kind of love
In this mixed up world?
Not with the nightmares I have
They seem so quick to write me off as lost
I see everything but that behind their stares
More like self righteousness
Self Control?
Tell that to my mom

So slowly I shove my hands back into my pockets
Hang my head and walk away
Maybe some day someone will take the time to actually care about me
If there is a God I hope he is not like those who claim to represent him


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