I was born a Sunday man

with a Church bell in my soul

and a steeple coming from my chest

a journey to God’s house in each step

my voice drowned by angel’s choir

I remember the way I used to be

before taking part in His Supper

before allowing myself

to rest easy in the pew

I was a shaky man

a child tossed by the tide

a kite thrashed by the wind

It took time for the ink of the Book

to tattoo itself within my mind

to bury itself into the marrow of my actions

Sometimes I find myself hit by the tide

with my face dragging along the shore

shrapnel of shells causing me to bleed out

a bit of the Sunday man

But I am unafraid

I am not timid anymore

Because I was told not to be

And all humility rests in obedience

So as the people flood in

to praise God for all that is

I give God who I am

For He will make me a Sunday man.

-nJb

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