Black and white are easy to wash in paint
over the whole world- white shows through
and won't let you hide some ruddy lights
of blood. Black, however, covers the whole room
conceals the color underneath it.
Black and white are both fine and good,
as pieces of their individual art,
but to to kidnap life under a smooth hood
silencing its true heart,
is to commit violence against the colors of the rainbow
and you may not know who you are
but to make it even clearer which path we should
take: optimism and pessimism are both pointless fakes.
The world's not all bad and it's certainly not all ******* good
we can't wash over our guilt and say "My God is not a God of hate"
when love and hate are not opposites- the truth is this
My God is not a God of indifference, but as a preface
hate and love have a bit more in common than we'd think they'd
have- my God loves me and because of that He hates my sin
He hates everything that's kept my soul locked in
He hates my lies and He hates my indifference for Him
my God is a God of love, and because of that He most certainly hates
love is not acceptance. The sky painted white is not a happy sky
it is a white sky, a sky as it is not. It's not my fight
to say the sky should be blue. We should know that.
The sky should be blue and love should be right
and true, but not blind- love should see all colors and hate not what
is not white, but hate what conceals the true light
the light that shines on all colors and does not accept them
for what they are, but only brings them to face the truth
in the face of all my many, many sins, I know guilt,
and because of my shame I know what is good.
I know that close to the beginning of time and many days since this,
"Abashed, the devil stood
and felt how awful goodness is."
Because goodness can be awful. Goodness can cause pain.
Love isn't pretty flowery fields of chocolate and honey
or comforting, awe-inspiring refrains.
Love is a bloodied man on a bloodied cross,
and maybe we should take some time to figure out
the implications of what that means for us.
The Sacred Heart of Christ did not die for us to forget
that His blood ran red from from it.