The Humble High Horse

One thing I always thought was the hardest to take,
About being a Christian, is the pride we mistake.
Being better than others, like that’s the whole deal,
As if faith makes us worthy, more real than real.

You’re on the Big Man’s side, the good fight’s your own,
With all of the answers, that much is known.
Yet every Christian will say, “Oh, no, that's not why,
I’m humble, I’m broken, just getting by.”

But doctrine insists with a heavenly weight,
That we’re chosen, we’re saved, the righteous and great.
It's our duty, it seems, to show others the way,
To get them in line, to kneel down and pray.

We’re told we have mercy, compassion for all,
But under the kindness, there’s a hard line we draw.
It’s a truth that divides, not always in grace,
And sometimes it's hard to look someone in the face.

It’s a struggle, it’s tension, a burden to bear,
To love without judgment, to truly be there.
And maybe the hardest part that I find,
Is learning to lead, without leaving behind.

Christians say we must take pity on all,
But those who need mercy, they let slip and fall.
They prattle, they judge, they speak of hellfire,
Condemning the lost, the hurt, and the tired.

The struggling, the doubters, the ones who don't fit,
The angry young man whose hope has been split.
The starving widow, the broken in need,
The ones drowning in shadows with no one to plead.

They're the ones who need a spot in the pew,
A place to belong, someone who sees through.
But they’ll say it's not enough to struggle unless done right,
To fall in a way that still makes you bright.

"Oh, but it's different," they say to the lost,
To the furious, the lonely, whose lives bear a cost.
To those buried in filth, their dignity gone,
They tell them, "Rise up, pull yourself along."

"We don’t help those who won’t help themselves,"
When it’s these very souls who need us most well.
The desperate, the broken, they manifest pain,
And yet their suffering is treated with disdain.

How they cry out, how they reach for a hand,
Deserves not judgment, but to be understood and spanned.
To lift the fallen, to help without shame,
To see their humanity, not to cast blame.

So that's why it’s hard, because to say otherwise, they scorn,
No room for doubt, no space to mourn.
To grovel, to falter, even if that’s the call,
You’re still met with eyes that question it all.

Even as I write out these lines,
There'll be those who say I'm not Christian refined.
They’ll call me a doubter, one lost in the mist,
As if questioning means I can’t truly exist.

"Do you even believe?" they might demand,
When all I'm doing is trying to understand.
Looking at my faith with eyes clear and bright,
Not to weaken my bond, but to strengthen my light.

To question, to wrestle, to search and explore,
Isn't turning away—it's reaching for more.
I want to be better, in God’s loving sight,
To walk with sincerity, to live in His light.

They say God is with us, a banner unfurled,
As if every setback’s just a test from the world.
You try to speak up, but it falls on deaf ears,
Because faith’s their armor, deflecting all fears.

“No matter what happens, in Jesus we win,”
A mantra they chant to drown out the din.
It's a victory cry, but hollow and thin,
A shield made of words against anything grim.

Why face what's before you, why even try,
When you've got “divine favor” that never runs dry?
It's easier to blame some imagined test,
Than to look out and wrestle unrest.

You tell them, you plead, you point at the flaw,
But they're caught in a haze of heavenly law.
No room for correction, no ear for the plea,
“Why change direction when God walks with me?”

Faith becomes blindness, conviction a wall,
“God’s on our side, so we never can fall.”
A cry that should comfort, should carry us through,
Twisted instead to say, “Why listen to you?”

And in that certainty, compassion’s betrayed,
The pain of another is too easily swayed.
“God’s on my side,” they say with a grin,
As if truth is just something they’re destined to spin.

So the preacher man will still speak righteous fire,
While those in the pews lift their heads higher.
And those along will live their lives as the saved,
While the broken remain, outside and unclaimed.

And how could I be the one in that pew,
Lifting my head while others are cast down too?
The hardest part of faith is claiming I'm no better,
While next to those who don’t see we all suffer together.