Bold About It

Looking for permission.
Approval.
From who?
Let the Spirit move you.
Buffoon. She thought.
What kinda king would make
such a fool of himself in the streets?
Then again. What kinda teen
would take a couple smooth rocks and a sling
to a war with giants?
Maybe King David knew. The same God
that disciplined the lion
was the same God who co-signed his shot
and left a hallowed be my name in the forehead of Goliath,
and left a silence where his pride once clamored,
and left that uncircumcised Philistine's head severed,
his skull and flesh quiet on a platter.

Maybe King David was a brotha,
maybe he moved so freely in the streets
cause he didn't need the worship team
to remind his feet that the feet of God 

is where his enemies were destined to reside,
that the feet of God was worth every drop of perfume,
every kiss, every tear, every strand of hair 
used to wipe the feet of the One who would 
sleep in the storm and
eat with little boys addicted to porn and
keep the prostitutes warm and
I'ma return to the son of Jesse in a minute but maybe,
just maybe,
the woman in Luke 7 
thought it fit to praise with her lips 
the feet that would bring an end to the beast,
the seed promised in Eden--
even the demons ask for permission at the sight of Jesus.

So why, then, do his people shuck and jive in the mind 
like we were born anything less than equal 
when we walked into the kingdom by saying Jesus is Lord?
Why do we pine for approval and whine in our spirits with insecurities
like Ephesians 3:20 don't say that God is more?

Maybe there's more to the scene of a king dancing in the streets than meets the eye.
Maybe we'll find
all the approval we need
when the opinions we care most about pleasing 
are the ones that actually give us freedom.
To dance. And speak. To love. To be.
Buffoon. In the streets.
Let them think what they choose.
The perceptions of men won't be my noose.
You were shaped with the face of One who is greater.
You were made to locate the backward spaces, misbehave, ruin the game, and show them
that it's okay to be new,
unashamed,
to be used,
and show the way
even when your flesh says, "wait,
remember the good ol’ days,"
that the Spirit will move,
if you allow him to.

So move. Dance. And look like a fool.
The remnant in the gray is waiting to join you.
To be reminded.
Of what we were created to do.

Because waiting for them to accept you
before you accept yourself is like
a Simon says
with no end,
no winners,
just hell.
it's you saying yes
when the demonhead asks,
"will you be my valentine?"

To wait for them
to approve of me
before I lived my life,
as if my existence wasn't a royal imprint
according to Heavenly design
would be something like
waiting for permission
to breathe
every single time.

How long
Will we wait
To walk unashamed
With the glow of a King whose name
Makes demons bleed and cleave at the seems,
Whose word will one day bring every knee to its appointment with the ground
And every tongue to the end of its fiction?
The devil is in the details so my duty is in my diction.
The way I speak when I’m weak will teach the world how to think about Christians.
The way we lead with our conviction will teach others what we believe about our mission,
And show whether we have truly experienced a collision with the Spirit of the Living God
Or if we have simply grown accustomed to preaching just another optional religion.

If you flinch and buckle
every time you think of doing
something that makes you look
different,
if you squirm and search for approval
every time your soul refuses
to fit into their system,
how will you ever learn
to stand firm
when the world needs you
to make a difference? 

Breathe.
There is no white picket destination,
No worldly reputation, 
No intentional sacred-secular segregation
That can save you from discomfort.

“In this world, you will have trouble.
But take heart. I have overcome the world.”

These are the words of our Commander in Chief. 
And we are the offspring of a new kingdom
That does not play nice with the darkness. 
You are already part of the resistance.
So you might as well be bold about it.

Cover Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash