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letra de simul justus et peccator - levi the poet

when i became the center of my gospel, i was tongue deep, rudder dead center, worshipping
between one leg out in front of me – expository, annotating, complimentarian m-st-rbating
tradition praising. traditionalistically berating traditionalists who failed to exists beneath the
solas – and another leg that simply felt like power against my jawbone

(keep forgiving)

we were a byproduct of the benefit of the doubt – compliments of the congregation consistently
consenting itself to sit beneath the smallest, syncretistic decisions (rebranded as resurgence, sold
as ec-menicism). call it rapture. call it reconciliation. call it the second coming, call it
consummation. call it whatever your spiritual gift of communication can call it to quantifiably
convert converts into consumers – call it replication. call it a calloused conscience that
condescends your vocation. call it condemnable. call it a misappropriation of their calling:
calling command into consideration. call it clearly, exegetically rooted in creation. call it an
unconscionably reasonable explanation

call it covenant and constantly call their commitment into question. call it community and
constantly second-guess them

call it the body
call it the body

call it the bride and make sure she gives you headship. call it the first among equals and crown
out the diadem and if you love her slow enough you’ll start to swallow your own press so
somehow
the
neck
is still to
blame

- levi the poet

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