I hear the voices sing… no faces are seen
I assumed the expressions were peaceful and serene
As I walk the rough streets in my tattered jeans
They seem to have no desire to greet the fiend
I wish I had a God… that I could bow to
But I have no fancy structure to allow me to
I wish they would look past my jeans… look within
Look into my soul… allow me to enter in
How could they afford to decorate their glass?
While the rest of their community sleeps in the grass
How do they proclaim to be ministers of the word?
Outside of those walls… the word is never heard
Outside of those walls… a world exists
But they can’t see the world… so the pain persists
How can you encourage others to believe…
If your windows blind you from those in need?

-Jon Chambers

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