Friday Challenge: Poetry

We had some fantastic entries the other day in response to Jack Schaap’s awful doggerel that both were entertaining and informative. Today’s challenge is to compose a bit of verse about any fundamentalist topic you choose. Lay out a limerick, hustle up a haiku, furnish us with free verse.

The poem judged to be best will be awarded with bragging rights and an honorary doctorate in Pulpit Poetry from Old Paths U.

154 thoughts on “Friday Challenge: Poetry”

        1. Dude! You killed it! Awesome work! I try to break up the first monotony, but I’ve never in my life been that original! You just killed it!

  1. I’d rather not talk about grace
    Instead I will rip off your face
    If I act like a jerk
    Perhaps that will work
    To keep you morality in place

  2. I’m as fundy
    as a fundamentalist goes
    the cream of the crop
    as my worn kjv shows

    I’m not espiscopalian, lutheran
    or one of those god-awful catholic brethren
    I’m a fundamentalist Baptist
    I’m going straight to heaven

  3. There once was a video of Schaap,
    Where his ranting, it just wouldn’t stop.
    He got embarrassed one day,
    And tried the DMCA,
    But grandma just wouldn’t let it drop.

  4. Fundamentalist hiphop

    Taking the bus to sunday school,
    playing my walkman, wanna be cool,
    playing dc talk, gimme jesus freak,
    get called up to the front,
    the bus man wants to speak.

    Don’t you know the pop music they sell…
    those african drums will take you to hell?
    With all that dancin’
    and ravin’
    and booty shakin’
    no wonder this generation
    has Gods heart aching.

    With all that shame
    and all that scorn
    I change the tape
    and listen to Korn

  5. My Jesus, I love thee;
    I know Thou art mine.
    But those other Christians –
    how could they be Thine?
    They wear shorts; they watch TV;
    Their music has a beat.
    “I’m glad I’m not like them”
    In prayer I oft repeat.

    I’m glad I am humble,
    So holy and pure;
    I spent time in witnessing,
    Not helping the poor.
    When church doors are open,
    You’ll always find me there,
    My hands always folded,
    Not lifted in the air.

    I hope I’ve impressed you with
    My holy self-denial;
    I’ve kept myself separate
    From everything that’s vile.
    I’m better, I’m holier,
    Than others whom I know.
    My Jesus, I love me
    Because I love you so.

  6. My sermons are all about me
    I’m the hero of every story
    Why talk about Him?
    He merely atoned for your sins
    But to me belongs all of the glory

  7. My skirts are long, my knees don’t show
    It’s Sunday, off to church I go.
    I keep the nursery, teach the kids
    And anything else the pastor’s wife bids.

    I clean the place on Friday nights
    Dust the pews, change the lights
    Dust the piano I also play
    Cook the meals for special days.

    My house is clean, my kids are bright
    My banana pudding sets just right.
    In nothing do I show a flaw
    And praise my husband for it all.

    Pastor preaches how it all begins
    A sleeveless blouse leads men to sin.
    I can do it all, I can bust my ass
    But I will always be second class.

  8. If you dont hide your body,
    you are a jezebel.
    oh never mind, you are woman
    and still going to hell.
    I will hold you under
    until you surrender.
    I WILL destory you
    because of your gender.
    Mary is pure evil
    because she was a girl.
    Keep beating your kids with a smile
    says Michael Pearl. 🙂

  9. Okay…serious one (sorry to kill the mood!), written when I was 20 and struggling with the grace of God. Whenever I still struggle, I go back to this and read the last line until I really believe it.

    The best way to read it is from punctuation to punctuation, not from line breaks. Just sayin’.

    You made a way for sinners to come to You
    and be forgiven of their wrongs
    and You made a way for Your children, too
    to find grace and mercy in the prints in Your palms.
    As for my two hands, they seek to serve and to destroy,
    building up my brother, then ripping apart
    all the work I’ve done, and the very fabric of my
    existance, putting out the ember in the dark.
    And as I deconstruct, it’s all I can do to
    watch my world fall to pieces before my eyes
    slow motion, daring me to question God. And yet
    by the fall, I am mesmerized.

    How will it end, this story of love I am determined
    to destroy? I stare ahead
    unable to believe that the blood in those veins
    still covers my head
    or takes the bloody guilt stains from my
    slippery fingers. Oh, God!
    God! Why have I forsaken You? Why? Do I seek
    acceptance in another Beloved?
    And yet You still pursue this fleeting stubborn
    stupid lamb to the depths of my own conscience seared.
    I try to hide myself, ashamed. What do You, Son of God,
    have that I deserve? My tears
    are black from my own heart’s wickedness. Don’t touch them –
    the stains, they bleed so deep…
    Someone so pure should never touch something so
    vile, debased, unclean.

    Still, You say come. Still, You chase. And I,
    the object of Your scrutiny,
    tremble to receive the mercy You offer, dying
    to forget the mutiny
    I instilled in my own heart against my Maker,
    my Saviour, my only hope in the world.

    And, as my world decomposes before me, I have
    a choice: to continue to be
    an instrument in the burning hand of the Devil, or to
    take hold of that holy hand that set me free.

    Unworthy am I! Only worth is in Him!
    What right have I to claim His inheritance?
    I take His hand, and notice there to my weeping astonishment
    my birthright, my name, graven in His
    hand, declaring His relationship to me, and mine to Him despite
    the corruption of my flesh. His flesh makes mine clean.
    As He wipes the blood and guilt and filth away, He whispers:
    “No tongue – not even yours – can separate you from Me.”

    1. Very powerful and moving. I love the question, “Why have I forsaken you?” that turns Christ’s question into an indictment of myself and my tendancy to flee from Him.

      Also I’ve always loved the imagery of my name engraven on His hands, especially knowing that His hands were pierced at Calvary.

  10. When I was a child
    My church was wild

    we ran the aisles
    And we worshipped Hyles

    No women in pants
    No exposition, just rants

    We had no shallow CCM
    And I’ll Fly Away was our favorite hymn

    We loved to hear Phil Kidd preach
    Even better, to hear him froth, yell and screech

    We had the Lord’s supper once a year
    Every week? We’re Baptists, that’s what we do here

    Outreach meant Chick tracts and busses
    Social programs are for those sorry Methodist cusses

    No Christmas trees or Easter bunnies for us as well!
    Even on Mother’s Day the mog would preach on hell

    We supported missionaries by the score
    $5-$10 per month. We were always looking for more!

    Off to Fundy U one day I went
    Boy! Four years of my life well-spent

    I went to the oh-so-needy mission field
    Came to your church and for prayer (money) I appealed

    Showed my slides and spoke of the lost
    whether Catholic, Presby or Pentecost!

    Now I sometimes get tracts in the mail
    and Saturday morning visits without fail

    Now I am happy and free
    I wish the fundies would just let me be

    I guess they think I am headed for hell
    Thanks to Darrell and his blog SFL!

  11. There once was a man full of “knowledge”
    Who thought that he’d start him a college
    Things were not working out
    So he’d snort, scream and shout
    School flaws though, he would not acknowledge

    {My original final line was ‘And blame it all on the poor students’ but then realized it wasn’t in keeping with a proper limerick}

  12. Here is my humble attempt.

    I wish that God would love me.
    I wear all the right clothes.
    I comb my hair, brush my teeth
    And don’t wear panty hose.

    I wish that God would love me.
    The KJB is what I use.
    Every day I read it
    And quote it to abuse.

    I wish that God would love me.
    I spend each moment in prayer.
    I’m on my knees just to please.
    At lunch others stare.

    I wish that God would love me.
    My heart aches for the lost.
    I wish that they would understand
    how much this Chick tract cost.

    I wish that God would love me.
    I’m holy like my God.
    Don’t criticize or analyze
    Just sit there and nod.

    I wish that God would love me.
    Anyone can surely see,
    That I am not a hypocrite.
    Oh sinner! be like me.

        1. I definitely remember that feeling of joylessness and despair while at BJU. And fear! Oh my goodness, the constant fear and guilt and self-hatred. I arrived there with a lot of baggage anyway, but even still…I didn’t fit the mold (wasn’t IFB – gasp!), and I finally started questioning God’s love and grace. It was a miserable 5 months that I’m still working through 2.5 years later.

  13. I don’t have time right now to compose something new, so I’ll pull out my old poem about Jack Hyles’ Shoes. It’s a parody (although you might not recognize it at first) of a Jack Schaap poem about Jack Hyles’ chair (see http://www.baptist-city.com/poems/jack_hyles_chair.htm).

    Jack Hyles’ Shoes

    I was born in a lowly stable
    just a little spotted calf,
    I sensed my life would not be long,
    I’d never grow to play and laugh.

    My mother was an older cow
    Who provided milk and cream
    But as a male I was born to die
    Long life was just a dream.

    But still there was some hope for me
    That I could do some good
    I’d heard about this royal chair
    That started as some wood.

    Perhaps my hide could be used to wrap
    This man’s Scofield KJV
    I’d be the sword in the hands
    Of fundamentalist royalty

    Or maybe I’d be the belt of truth
    Wrapped ’round the God man’s waist
    I’d hold him up as he preached the Word
    and save dear souls with haste.

    He’d pull me off for another use
    When his children needed spanked
    The rod of correction I could be
    And later I’d be thanked

    I have an even higher dream
    If I could be so bold
    Could I just be a leather coat
    To shelter him from cold.

    It’s really just a small request
    It could hardly be deemed wrong
    To be the garment that is touched
    By the many admiring throngs

    What’s this I hear you have in store
    What is this fate I’ll meet?
    I’m going to be a pair of shoes?
    You’re going to put me on his feet?

    Stacy Adams? Who are they?
    Designers of men’s clothes?
    How I wish I could just be a coat,
    Rather than cover his toes.

    Oh please, dear Lord, why must I be
    given a fate so bleak
    To have to endure smelly socks
    seven days a week

    But then I heard the Lord’s reply
    and I want the world to know
    That while the coat would keep him warm
    His shoes would make him go.

    The miles he trod to seek the lost
    he made through snow and rain
    and I protected him from the cold
    and kept him out of pain.

    I walked with him for many miles
    I caught his many tears
    I also felt his laughs and smiles
    As he wore me through the years.

    Now I see God’s bigger plan
    that He had in store for me
    Of all the things God could have done
    I became part of history.

    I never preached a sermon
    I never read the Word
    But I was there for every step
    As he made God’s voice heard.

    Just a humble little calf
    born in a stable filled with hay,
    What have I done in my life you ask?
    This is what I say:

    I provided soles that saved some souls
    and filled some empty pews;
    Without a voice I preached the word
    For I became Jack Hyles’ shoes.

    and…my final verse that gives away the parody:

    My legacy has now been set,
    of this you can be sure,
    that this poor calf, though long since dead,
    can still help spread manure.

  14. Welcome to Bob Jones U,
    God’s place for the chosen few.
    Turn off your brain, follow our rules,
    It will go easy for you.

    Men’s hair must always be short,
    Women’s skirts must always be long.
    Your music must always be approved,
    And CCM is ALWAYS wrong.

    We used to not allow blacks,
    but the state gave us a lot of flack.
    So we changed our rules in 73,
    And blacks could enroll freely.

    We told the world we didn’t mind,
    as long as they dated their own kind.
    The IRS said: We actually do mind!
    And put us in a huge legal bind.

    We fought with tooth and with nail,
    Against their satanic allegation.
    But our lawyers did miserably fail,
    and thus we lost our tax exemption.

    Then in the 2000 election,
    George Bush made a public appearance.
    The media went nuts, with great incoherence,
    And labeled us a racist institution.

    So off to the Larry King show,
    Did the Third very dilligently go.
    He tried very hard to defend,
    But publically, the rule he did end.

    At the news of the great event,
    Some board members did get very bent,
    And corrected the school’s president.
    You can now date anyone you like,
    just make sure you have parental consent.

    So, welcome to Bob Jones U.
    We are so very happy to see you.
    Black or White, we won’t demean,
    What we really want is your green.

  15. (sorry Roberta Flack ;=0)

    Where is the love
    You said he’d give to me
    soon as I was free
    will it ever be
    Where is the love?

    You told me that I shouldn’t love them,
    and that I must say goodbye
    And if I really didn’t mean it,
    I would go to hell when I die.

    Where is the love,
    you said was mine all mine, till the end of time
    was it just a lie?
    where is the love?

    You said I must have a change of heart
    And that I must dress and act just so
    don’t leave me hangin on the promises
    I’m King James only now you know

    Oh how I wish I never met you
    I guess it must have been my fate
    to fall for someones man made god
    all I can do is wait

    Where is the love?

  16. There once was a preacher named Phelps
    Who failed to provide needed helps,
    But when Tina came out
    He then chose to shout
    What sounds like whimpers and yelps.

  17. There once was a preacher named Bob
    Who wanted his school to be bigger
    He solicited cash from the Klan,
    Who said, No problem, man
    …just don’t enroll any …….

  18. See the people in the fundie church
    Working so hard each day
    They’ve conformed to all the rules
    Their “mannagod” they always obey

    No time to read the Bible
    They’re too busy “winning souls”
    When they hear the preacher mention their name
    Something inside them glows

    No relationship with Jesus Christ
    It’s time for next activity
    Preaching about standards
    It’s just their cup of tea

    See preacher get up to preach
    See him holler and yell
    I think that someday this poor church
    Will be featured on SFL

  19. You bought any cereal she wished,
    Even after the preacher said, “Switch”
    You said, “What’s the harm,
    It’s just Lucky Charms”
    But now your poor daughter’s a witch.

  20. Well my internet is finally back up and with a nod to Van Halen’s album 1984 I give you this fundy Haiku.

    Bobby socks, culottes
    Lace covered shoulders, makes me
    Not hot for teacher

  21. To fundy school I wore a hat
    A fedora, no less, at that
    My teacher took aim
    And left me in shame
    When she swatted my head like a gnat

    She took my fedora away
    With no words, but her look did say
    On girls it looks dyke
    Hypocritical psych
    She would say on a guy it looks gay

  22. With apologies to S. Baring-Gould and Arthur Sullivan:

    — Onward Fundy Soldiers —

    Onward, Fundy soldiers, always we’re at war,
    With the worldy “christians” we hate and abhor!
    Preacher is our master, we’ll do what he says,
    For he is the manogawd, and we must obey!

    Refrain:

    Onward, Fundy soldiers, always we’re at war,
    With the worldy “christians” we hate and abhor!

    God’s only inspired book, is the K J B.
    Any other version, is apostasy!
    Greek and Hebrew manuscripts, we’ve no use for them,
    They are just too difficult, for our short brain stems.

    (Refrain)

    Worship shall be somber, gloomy, grim and sad,
    Never with a drum beat, that is always bad!
    With our white piano, not a wordly band,
    Brothers, lift your voices, but never your hands.

    (Refrain)

    Women shall be silent, reverent and meek,
    Just as preacher taught us, never shall they speak!
    In perfect submission, never talking back,
    Wearing modest dresses, and closed shoes in black.

    (Refrain)

    Onward Fundy soldiers, fighting day and night,
    Only we are holy, only we are right!
    We will earnesty contend, argue, fight and yell.
    And if you do not agree, you can go to hell!

    (Refrain)

    1. Footnote in the hymnal: When singing the phrase:

      worldy “christians”

      the congregation must always do the “air quotes” with their fingers

    2. Great details here! First of course the focus is so true: the preaching I heard most was not against those who deny the faith but those who exercise Christian liberty in ways the preacher disagreed with.

      Some of my favorite lines:
      “Any other version is apostasy.”
      “Only we are holy; only we are right.”

      The detail of the closed shoes was very good! And of course the last line – yup! That’s often the attitude; not broken-heartedness but self-righteous satisfaction at the thought of rebels going to hell.

  23. In honor of my alma mater:

    Once a Fundy U president named Clarence
    Let a student break the rules with no consequence
    “He knocked that girl up
    but its okay ’cause he’s my pup
    I’ll marry them in secret. What’s the difference?”

    I have a problem with this you see
    Because the results would be different were it me
    But if you’re the sprog
    Of a famous fundy mog
    The rules have no applicability!

  24. For every rule I stoop down to seize
    I lose some other off my arms and knees,
    And the whole pile is slipping, hair, fun-
    Extremes too hard to comprehend at once,
    Yet nothing I should care to leave behind.
    With all I have to hold with, hand and mind
    And heart, if need be, I will do my best
    To keep their rules balanced at my breast.
    I crouch down to prevent them as they fall
    Then sit in the middle of them all.
    I had to drop the rules in the road
    Never bothered to stack them in a better load.

    Total Robert Frost ripoff, but I suck at poetry so that’s all I got.

  25. Culottes galore. What fundy girl
    could not want more? They swish and they whirl
    right at the knee, as a fundy girl walks
    toward chapel in glee, She will not balk,
    nor will she spew when Pastor Schaap asks
    for no open-toed shoes. She will not be aghast
    when told she’s a whore for a hand-holding desire
    with a boy named George. She will not aspire
    to hold an NIV which Pastor Schaap says
    is the enemy. The KJV from 1611
    is doubly divine. A true believer is bidden
    to say “that surely is thine.” Nor is alcohol to be indulged.
    Any good fundy will not feel obliged
    to partake of this dandy, for it is evil and cruel
    of the devil it is. It’s not a jewel
    to be drunk like a whiz. It needs to be thrown
    away with no care out, into the unknown
    where no one would dare to lay even a finger
    on the devil’s glass bottle. No one will anger
    as Pastor Schaap throttles a heathen who left
    the safety of church for the wide world, bereft
    of God’s umbrella or perch of protection, it’s true.
    As chapel is ended, as the sermon is through,
    fundy girl feels splendid. She loves her good pastor
    who looks out for them all. A good wise man, a mentor
    She straightens her shawl and exits the door
    and her culottes will swish as she soulwins some more.

  26. The Ballad of BULL GIPP (can be sung, or not)

    Come and listen to my story about a man named GIPP
    A master pulpiteer, who is on an ego trip,
    Thundering from the pulpit, bellowing out rules,
    guilts folk to the altar with manipulation tools.
    Fear that is, works sanctification, to the Baptistery.

    Well the first thing you know ol’ BULL’s a preaching clothes,
    Women can’t wear pants or shoes that show their toes.
    Said that men should wear a suit that really costs a wad,
    So that they can show the world how much that they love their god.!
    JC Penny’s that is.
    Men’s wearehouse, wide ties..
    The BULL GIPP EXPRESS!!

    The Closing verse:
    We would like to thank BULL GIPP for kindly dropping in,
    He’s invited back next year to point out all our sin.
    You know he’ll come and save our souls he’s the Evangelistic King
    There’s liberty to preach here and a large Love Offering…
    Second sermons that is. Sing a spell. Take your watch off. Get your wallet out, Haymen?

    My profound apologies to Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, and the whole Clampett Clan

  27. Hmm. . . As my first post on this wonderful website, I think I will make this one memorable. 😈

    (To the tune of Michael Jackson’s “Bad”)

    My Bible’s closed,
    My watch is off,
    Just sit down there,
    And don’t you scoff.
    I’m the MOg,
    Better treat me right.
    ‘Cause I’m the king
    This Sunday night.
    Come on, Come on, I’m fundy!

    I’ve got my plan,
    Gonna rule your life,
    Control your kids,
    Demean your wife.
    I’m telling you,
    Just follow me
    And you’ll be a
    Proper fundy!

    Oh I never even study, I just say what I think!
    And don’t you even question me, that means your on the brink of being–

    Bad! You’re bad. You’re really, really bad!
    I mean, you’re bad, you’re bad, you’re really, really bad.
    And the pastor has a hotline to gid,
    So you just tell me once again, who’s bad?

    I’m one with gid,
    His special pal,
    So never mind
    What I did with Sal. . .
    I never sin,
    Just lecture you
    And tell you what
    You shouldn’t do.

    Oh I never even study, I just say what I think!
    And don’t you even question me, that means your on the brink of being–

    Bad! You’re bad. You’re really, really bad!
    I mean, you’re bad, you’re bad, you’re really, really bad.
    And the pastor has a hotline to gid,
    So you just tell me once again, who’s bad?

  28. Following is a poem that my friend, Pat, wrote about a different part of Jack Hyles’ legacy. He posted this on my blog about 3 years ago in response to a post I had made regarding Pastor Hyles’ Stacey Adams shoes.

    I was born in a lowly stable
    just a little spotted calf,
    I sensed my life would not be long,
    I’d never grow to play and laugh.

    My mother was an older cow
    Who provided milk and cream
    But as a male I was born to die
    Long life was just a dream.

    But still there was some hope for me
    That I could do some good
    I’’d heard about this royal chair
    That started as some wood.

    Perhaps my hide could be used to wrap
    This man’’s Scofield KJV
    I’’d be the sword in the hands
    Of fundamentalist royalty

    Or maybe I’’d be the belt of truth
    Wrapped ’round the God man’’s waist
    I’’d hold him up as he preached the Word
    and save dear souls with haste.

    He’d pull me off for another use
    When his children needed spanked
    The rod of correction I could be
    And later I’’d be thanked

    I have an even higher dream
    If I could be so bold
    Could I just be a leather coat
    To shelter him from cold.

    It’’s really just a small request
    It could hardly be deemed wrong
    To be the garment that is touched
    By the many admiring throngs

    What’’s this I hear you have in store
    What is this fate I’’ll meet?
    I’m going to be a pair of shoes?
    You’’re going to put me on his feet?

    Stacy Adams? Who are they?
    Designers of men’s clothes?
    How I wish I could just be a coat,
    Rather than cover his toes.

    Oh please, dear Lord, why must I be
    given a fate so bleak
    To have to endure smelly socks
    seven days a week

    But then I heard the Lord’s reply
    and I want the world to know
    That while the coat would keep him warm
    His shoes would make him go.

    The miles he trod to seek the lost
    he made through snow and rain
    and I protected him from the cold
    and kept him out of pain.

    I walked with him for many miles
    I caught his many tears
    I also felt his laughs and smiles
    As he wore me through the years.

    Now I see God’’s bigger plan
    that He had in store for me
    Of all the things God could have done
    I became part of history.

    I never preached a sermon
    I never read the Word
    But I was there for every step
    As he made God’’s voice heard.

    Just a humble little calf
    born in a stable filled with hay,
    What have I done in my life you ask?
    This is what I say:

    I provided soles that saved some souls
    and filled some empty pews;
    Without a voice I preached the word
    For I became Jack Hyles’ shoes.

    ~~Pat

        1. No problem Matthew. Sadly, this is my only contribution to the arts. Hope all is well with you.

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