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bible, Biblical Truth, Christian, Christian Poetry, christianity, faith, Inpirational, Inspirational, jesus, Poetry, Royally Redeemed, theology
Dear Reader,
From the poet:
In an age that has quietly erased the word sin from its vocabulary, I offer this poem not as condemnation, but as a solemn reminder and an urgent invitation. Once we lose the honest naming of our rebellion against God and His good order, we also lose the path to true forgiveness and restoration.
May these lines stir the conscience, awaken the heart, and turn every soul toward the only One who can save us from our sins—Jesus Christ our Lord.
Will you and I be among those who still dare to call sin sin, and thereby point a broken world to the Savior?
In elder days when thunder voiced the Law
And prophets walked the flinty roads of old,
The word sin rang as iron on the soul—
A blade that clove the heart, a bell of gold
That tolled repentance ere the grave grew cold.
Now from the common tongue the word is fled,
Like some archaic curse no longer named.
The pulpits soften, courts declare it dead,
And schools instruct the young: “No soul is blamed.”
All acts are neutral flowers, self-blessed, untamed.
O tragic void! Where once the pilgrim knelt
Beneath the weight of wrong and cried for grace,
Now mirrors only flatter, conscience melts
Into a mist of “feelings,” “choice,” and “space.”
No fall remains; thus no redemption waits.
The ancient bards knew better. Homer sang
Of wrath that spoiled the host and felled the brave;
Virgil beheld the guilty shades who clang
Their chains in Tartarus, unshriven, save
By memory of trespass and the grave.
Dante, fierce Florentine, with measured tread
Descended hell’s nine circles, naming each
By sin’s true name—fraud, lust, pride, the dread
Of treason’s frozen lake. No gentle speech
Could blunt the horror; truth alone could teach.
Milton, blind but seeing, raised his song
To justify the ways of God to men,
And showed how one transgression, vast and strong,
Brought death and all our woe. Yet even then
The greater arc of mercy rose again.
But strip away the word and what remains?
A culture sleek with self, where every vice
Is rechristened “lifestyle,” “identity,” or “gains.”
No prodigal returns; no broken cries
Ascend. The temple stands, but God’s house lies
In ruins of the tongue. The heart grows coarse,
Untroubled by the stain it will not see.
Ambition swells to empire without remorse,
And cruelty wears the mask of liberty.
The final darkness falls—yet no one flees.
Restore the word, sharp as a surgeon’s knife,
That cuts the canker out before it kills.
Let sin once more awaken mortal strife
Between the soul and its rebellious will,
Till humbled knees recall the ancient skill
Of seeking pardon. Only then may rise
The triumph of the Cross that ends all pain:
Forgiveness purchased at Redemption’s price,
Where sin confessed is washed in crimson rain,
And man, once fallen, stands upright again.
Will you and I be those who call sin sin,
Thereby pointing all to the Savior strong—
Who saves lost souls from every stain within
Through Jesus Christ our Lord, the endless song
Of grace that makes the broken whole, restored.
Passionately Pursuing Christ 