Okay, Jesus, let’s get real.
Well, I’ll get real, or try.
While you’re taking your day off
(Unless preaching to the souls in prison,
Whatever that might mean,
Is a lot of work)
I’ll take your time to ask this question:
How deluded am I?
And in the spectrum of delusion,
Where do mine reside?
I suppose it’s an inevitable conundrum
For anyone who shares my flaws of personality.
My arrogance tells me that what I do is great,
Assures me of the impact of my work,
Persuades me that if given time
(Even insufficient time)
I’ll magically produce great things.
My insecurity is sure
That I aspire to achieve a trifling mediocrity.
If given time, I’ll squander it, distracted,
And only use the last few hours to complete,
Half-finished, rough, and laughable,
What had potential for a thing of beauty –
In someone else’s hands.
My arrogance resents accomplishment in others.
My insecurity expects it, even honors it,
But only to depress my spirit.
Perhaps it’s not accomplishment itself –
I appreciate good work I see –
But recognition more than I receive
(Yes! There it is! It’s jealousy!)
Which I allow to drag me down.
You see the problem, Jesus,
(Better than I, I’m sure):
With my ability to analyze
My own accomplishments so skewed,
So pulled in one direction or the other,
How do I assess myself?
How do I evaluate the world?
Just how deluded am I?
I’d ask you to remove these flaws,
But I told you I was trying to be real,
And we both know that that won’t work.
For one thing, I’d resist.
However lumpy and uneven,
This is the bed my spirit rests in.
Who’d know me if you swept these quirks away?
How would I know myself?
But if you could, still-speaking Jesus,
Thread the needle (worse than saving a rich man)
And find the part of me that’s capable
Of recognizing truth, even about myself,
Raise up reality to hold against the flaws,
To shame the arrogance and
Rectify the insecurity,
Then I should surely weep for joy.
I hope I’ve made it real this Holy Saturday.
I’m asking, Jesus, for your help
So I can keep it real.