(Lament for the Christian Manager)He was a waif of gutter born;
God took him in, a child forlorn.
He smiled at last, a son of grace;
A prince unveiled, all stains displaced.
He grew up strong, he ate fine fare;
He lost his frown, he lost all cares.
His robes they shone with firstfruit love;
Hopes rose like suns in skies above.
But then one day he took to fear:
"What if I lose this life, this cheer?
What if my God forgot my name;
What would become of all this fame?"
And so his worry worked its way
Into his heart and then some day
He stole into the King's throneroom
And took a sceptre, with a broom.
He shut himself up in a wing;
He made a crown and wore a ring.
With that mace he ruled his room
And swept his tears up with his broom.
He sang some songs to cheer his heart
On days he thought of life apart
From One Who washed him clean that day -
A stolen heart stole him away.
And so he sits as Lord of Small
With built-up shoes to make him tall.
The door is closed, the doorbell rings...
To open now is to not be king.
God loved him then, God loves him still;
He knocks and calls as Fathers will.
House is open but Room is sealed -
The key's within; the love's congealed.
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