Skip to main content

THE PULPIT





Youth meetings must not stop
But the late night affairs must halt!
Impounded words of snare
Creating an environment of fear
Dusting white with filth,
Birthing non-existing guilt.
The tune doesn’t suit my song
That tone too high and wrong
I must change the sermon
My preaching can’t thrive without my notes
I should have it projected on a screen

What in churches these days have we not seen?
Her skirt dampened my spirit
I performed the miracles, let me handle the offering
I preside so who decides
The harvest is plenty
Labourers are scanty
Let’s recruit but with caution
Choose those who can give big tithes

Indeed the church is dying.
Someone is seated here, my friend is there
The deaconess didn’t clean my seat well
She didn’t even dress well
See the stain in my dress from the chair
It’s the fault of that woman with the grey hair
That guy is handsome
His smile so awesome
But he couldn’t sing the song during worship
Most of the vocabs gave him hardships

She wears straight dress always
But they ‘re poor anyways*
Today,  church was so boring
Yes, the drumming was slow
I couldn’t dance for my shoes to show
Today my girlfriend didn’t even come
She came early last week but we closed late
Next time I ‘ll stay home and ask for update
My guy is outside waiting
Don’t they know am dating,
Evening service is so humiliating
In fact the church is SICK
God, heal us for your sake!!




As we attend Church meetings, our ultimate aim should be experiencing Him and His presence. If the work of God must be done, then it must be done well. You may not get involved in working for God but you can live for Him. Just allow those who have the desire to utilize their gifts in the house of God to do as they are led. The Church is sick and only the intimacy of the Holy Spirit can bring that healing.

Comments

Post a Comment

visit next time for more

Popular posts from this blog

DREAMSCAPE

An experience of a walking life; Or thoughts of the day in motion at night, Flowing peacefully in spirit like a kite. Awaiting an Estimated Time of Arrival, In your heart’s own built terminal. You woke up from the thunderous snore, Just to realize you were in a slumber. But you vividly remember; The realities you did encounter, And how beautiful it was that you saw. So you shared your story in the morning, While you were still yawning. Yes you shared; With people of like-mindedness. And boom! you are a hit; A one time wander, Now a lifetime wonder, With whom everyone wants to sit, But your dreams, don’t let them plunder. You are now a champion, So go ahead my companion. Go ahead with that plan; Store as many as you can, If it can’t be frozen, just get it canned.
Post a Comment
Read more

not MAN enough

Should I say breasted Swollen headed Rifty shouldered Or broad chested With the feet apart, fingers attached Reminiscing simulations of expected fallacies We still cannot promise  That which may only be a wish That by hook or crook We live not to miss One may hide his fear  Because people like him are rare Or when salvation is near But when a determined face  Is hidden behind a disposable mask, Then this is my take, "Lives are at stake For job security sake" Albeit: Positive mood and posture Creates a gigantean stature That holds onto a diminishing dream  And licks it like honey ice cream Therefore I am no moron In this metaphorical oxymoron; Of a naked dressed officer Wasting kiwi on black leather. But as we stand at our faith's peak It will take less than a week To prove we were never weak Courtesy only kept us meek But time on our side, shall speak And men shall find what they seek.
Post a Comment
Read more

YOUR own PEN

Something mostly divine, Sometimes, it's ours to define. Unlike the plant called Vine, Destiny seldom has pine. And it is our duty to prune and refine. From the feet till we see the spine. It may be a good omen, To which we shout Amen. It might have a fault to mend or dirt to filter, Which might make us think that God did falter. But we can write our own destiny. Yes, we always do. Remember that road you used to the mill, The particular person you talked to, Has it not been your own will? When you wanted to learn, Even when in prayer you did yearn, You took that training seriously, And you passed out successfully, That was your own destiny. That was your pen on paper. When you write, no one can alter. I am the secretary of the God you don't know. Now wait while I print yours out to show. Written down by you as white as snow.
Post a Comment
Read more