My Monasticism

I am not called to poverty,

Not convinced it will set me free;

By my choice or by decree,

Money doesn’t follow me.

I’m not forced to steal or plead,

Have no want for daily bread;

Have access to pool and gas char-grill,

While many fend for just a meal.

Five thousand living just by me,

Labelled homeless; categorically,

In river-wash and county seat,

Lord could I learn to wash their feet?

I seek to live in simplicity,

For that is what Christ wants from me,

Much in debt I want more toys,

Am I the source of all the noise?

‘Where there is injury, pardon,’

Offended by world my heart does harden,

I’m less like a saint than a Pharisee,

Living like Christ hasn’t died for me.

I am called to death and cross,

For sake of Christ count all as loss,

For we are all monks in part,

When we follow from the heart.