The Bride-groom is coming,
To collect His Church, The Bride -
He is not coming back for pieces,
But a one whole and fully alive.
A body divided against itself,
Are the remains of a sad cold corpse -
It cannot think, it cannot breathe,
It neither smiles, frowns nor talks.
A body divided against itself is useful for nothing,
Except to be mourned -
And those who did the fateful hacking,
Murderers all to be scorned.
Oh you! The many Churches!
You; the varied denominations of The Faith!
How you've forgotten your first love!
And traded Him in for a fierce debate!
If you cannot love each other,
Breatheren,
Here on the miserable earth,
How then will you get along in heaven?
You who declare you alone have some worth...
Not one of the denominations is perfect!
ALL fall far short of God's glory -
You'd think you'd all remember that,
With the many retellings of His Story. Stop being boastful!
Stop being so proud!
Stop belittling others!
You're making the Church
a tent full of clowns...
Where is the humble bride?
Who'll draw water for the tired and the needy?
Where is the expectant virgin?
The Church who has her lamp and is ready?
Where are her softest sighs -
Awaiting her beloved in peace?
Where is the bride?
The who He was sent to release?
Put away your squabbling,
Oh Church of Christ -
He may come for you this very night -
Perchance to find you ill prepared -
At the locked gate left then -
Standing there.
Oh Lord, please send your bride
Some word, some hope,
Some warning signs -
Least she be unprepared,
Least she should should die...
Least she should forget at all,
That she is your faithful bride
