You Call Yourself A Christian

You call yourself a Christian,
Yet there is no follower of any other religion,
I have seen fight like this.

You call yourself a Christian,
But you do not live by the teachings of your Bible,
Or follow the example of Jesus.

You call yourself a Christian,
Yet are intolerant of any other culture or religion,
Believing only yours is the truth.

You call yourself a Christian,
But in the decades when I followed that religion,
I was less of one than I am now.

You call yourself a Christian,
You think I left that religion because of how others were acting,
That was not the reason.

You call yourself a Christian,
I am not criticizing or judging you,
Only sharing what I have seen.

You call yourself a Christian,
Yet from what I have seen why would I want to be like you?
I have chosen a path free of religion.

You call yourself a Christian,
Yet I will never use these words against you,
They will echo in solitude.

You call yourself a Christian,
Yet of what merit is Heaven later if I am going through hell now?
It is better to live in heaven now.

You call yourself a Christian,
But how can you live in peace on earth,
If it is hell and not heaven?

You call yourself a Christian,
Yet you criticize and judge all sexual action,
Why persecute a natural function?

You call yourself a Christian,
Yet you teach hate even while you preach love,
At war in the name of peace.

This poem is unfinished. My grandmother and mother were fighting today. I had to physically place myself in between then and put a stop to it. I was driven by a strong sense of something important happening today, even though I had nothing on my calendar. I got my mom out of the house and am working at getting grandma away fro a few days. I am only concerned about today, as this the the day I had that strong feeling about. But I am not thinking straight and very, very tired.

I know that if the teachings of Abraham are correct they chose this experience. Hell even I chose it! I know that is their game, their path. But how can I allow them to fight like they are, when the stress from their arguing could kill either one of them? If I saw someone being beat up on the street I would have to help them. I couldn’t just stand there and say “Well he chose that experience!”

So when we have the ability to intervene I guess in some or maybe most cases we should. Sometimes things just have t be allowed to work themselves out. But other times someone is in immediate and obvious danger, so we should do something about it.

My dad, my mom and my grandmother are all Christians, and this poem is my attempt to authentically and honestly express how I am feeling about that, about their chosen religion, what I am seeing and experienced. But the words are having a hard time coming out. So I am stopping for now.

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