Where one serves, another takes their advantage.
Where one sacrifices, another greedily stuffs their face.
It is the nature of grace, I suppose
That one must give and the other accept
But I would reject the way that we shove and push
To get to our own sense of perfection.
If something is ripe for the taking,
Can't you take a look around
Can't you see what's tightly wound
around the verses of human life
drawing light from the roots of the tree you would strip?
Simply waiting for the sweet, soft drop
Of what you would take for yourself
Waiting for it to plop on the ground
We need it to nourish ourselves
As it rots on our collective conscience.
It's sullied nutrition
Feeding the whole
Instead of the one.
Giving us better ground to stand upon.
So maybe you'd call me a socialist
But you haven't seen the same people I've seen
No one should own so much money
Their sweet, beating hearts
Giving so much to the arts
Giving so much to the medicine
That would cure their aches and ailments.
Nothing's ever truly selfless
Phoebe nailed that, early on.
I don't suppose we could try it anyways, though...
Put down your money.
Put down your guns.
And give someone a goddamn hug.
Look into the eyes of another person and FEEL what they are feeling.
The problem... the problem is that we are all.
So very capable of these unimaginable evils. It lies
within each of us. It whispers
of how it will treat us.
Maybe it's self destructive. Maybe we get off on that.
We're all going to hell in a handbasket, so get in the fucking basket, man.
I'll take you down with me, man.
How do you even help when someone hurts like that?
How do you even help?
I don't think I have it in me.
My parents would say that the answer is Jesus.
That this evil, black, monstrous mold is sin.
That we need Him to wash it clean.
And I mean, cool, kudos to Jesus, thanks to God, but it doesn't fix things to know that. It doesn't fix things to tell people about it.
I guess it helps some things, sometimes. But it doesn't get to the root of the problem, which is really the sick and twisted worldviews of the people who wreak the havoc of their depraved minds, out here in reality.
I suppose it's related to the smaller, pettier emotions we feel; the ones that Jesus helps normal people to seal into their past life. Thank you Jesus, I am clean, and we stand for love.
But it doesn't get to the root of the problem.
It doesn't fix things.
It fixes me. Or you. The individual. And I suppose... if it fixed all the individuals, we'd be good.
But once you're clean and bright and shiny with the forgiveness and grace of God, what do you do?
You go into all the world, I guess, proclaiming the good news.
But not everyone will like the good news,
And sonny, that's why there are martyrs.
Good Christian men rejoice
As they cut off your heads.
So, you see, it doesn't fix things.
Because not everyone submits to be fixed.
Sometimes we resist the things we need the most.
Just... why isn't it armor or something? Bright shiny grace-armor that we can just hit the bad guys over the head with. Smack them with the Bible and get some love into 'em.
I mean, c'mon, Jesus.
I suppose that's the problem with free will. There will always be people who make bad choices.