An Awesome Cyber-Psalm

I don't know about you, but watching those interviews with Fred Phelps and his cronies yesterday made me feel dirty. As a remedy to that, I recommend this beautiful Cyber-Psalm, which I've copied from its author's website, Lingamish. I hope David Ker doesn't mind me simply reproducing a post that he himself wrote, but if he's anything like the prophets of the Old Testament, he'll understand that its the truth of the poem that matters and needs to be propagated and not adherence to rules of copyright and ownership.

For your delectation:

Cyber-Psalm 15

What would heaven be like

if books of theology

were written by children not men?

And what if sermons were delivered by the poor.

And devotional books were written by the hungry.

And hymns were composed by the sick and the old.

The Sermon on the Mount requires no interpretation,

unless you are fat and happy.

If our hope of heaven were colored

with children’s crayons and felt tip markers.

And our theology of hell were tempered

by the dying breath of those who suffer.

The hair-splitting and hand-wringing

of over-educated men in ivory towers

goes largely unnoticed by grandmothers in their kitchens

and office workers in their cubicles.

They go on putting silly magnets on their fridge

And trading forwarded e-mails about heaven.

Two thousand years of systematic theology

Disturbs them not a bit!

God is honored and praised

Hoped for and prayed to

By myriads who never learned Greek.

Their revelation is not a scroll

But a hope vaguely imprinted

On a soul made by God.

The sick and the blind and the poor

Receive Jesus with gladness.

The Gospels require no spiritualized application.

Feed us, friend Jesus.

Our stomachs are empty.

You are the one our hearts hope for.

Heal us who are sick.

We ache and we suffer.

Save us in death.

We are dying in darkness.

Savior Jesus, our hope at life’s end.