Of late I had to do a job,
So I sent for my good friend, Bob,
Who showed me how to do a "mix"
And move "mud boards" and shift the bricks.
Then on we toiled, and worked so hard,
A building rose up, in my yard.
But as I watched the mixer turn,
Our Lord showed something I should learn.
"Mud" separates itself, you see;
Now what does that sight mean to thee?
So I considered what I saw,
And then a parallel did draw
Between the mixer, moving "mud"
And the church of our dear God.
For both draw power from a source,
But one is spiritual, of course.
And both are building, in effect,
For their respective architects.
The mix itself, as we should know,
Shows Christians, who together flow.
The Golden Trowel of our dear Lord
Positions those of sweet accord.
Some at foundations base are laid,
And some for higher place are made.
The building that will last for ever,
God has fitly framed together.
The mixer also showed the sin
Of sticking to the mixer's fin;
And when adhering to the side
Shows Christians when they do divide.
"I of Cephas, I of John"
Baptist, Salvo, and so on.
Denominations are no more
Than willing Daughters of the Whore.
And yet the Lord's voice fills the air,
"Come, my people, out of her!"
As lumps that to the side adhere,
Wash off with water, ever near,
So also Christians, caught and snared,
Are washed with water of the Word.
And as they, with that Word agree,
Soon break off into liberty
And flow within the Mix that's next,
The Lump remaining's sorely vexed!
Now if you stick to This Lump,
(And this must be decided)
You can not stick to That Lump.
But then, is Christ divided?
So let us flow together
'Til finally out-poured,
And guided by the Golden Trowel
That's wielded by the Lord.
But what of Lumps remaining hard
When heaven's gate is shut?
The labourer's hammer chips the shards
For treading underfoot.
The ringing barrel soon gives up
The hard cement that set;
And as they fall unto the earth,
The hardness lingers yet.
Which building are we building
As we together strive?
Is this the one sweet house of God?
Or something more contrived?
Both Lump and House are buildings,
Of that we are agreed.
But only one is God's design.
And only one we need!
So next time that you pass a wall,
Just take a little time.
Look past the bricks and mortar
To something more sublime.
Each brick, it has been fired
In the kiln's bright roaring flame.
And elements once divided
Will never be the same.
Tribulation has united
Those separate, distinct parts.
So now they are one Body,
One faith, one mind, one heart.
Each brick's a group of Christians
Whom the Architect above,
Place carefully in His great wall,
Cemented by his love.
There's profit in all labour,
And nought to be regretted.
So to the Lord (and my friend Bob)
I truly am indebted.
H.K.Pywell
1991