NOT EVERY PULPIT WEARS A CROWN

 

NOT EVERY PULPIT WEARS A CROWN

By 

Ikechukwu Frank 

Not every pulpit hides a crown,

Not every robe is stitched with greed.

Some hands are worn, some knees are scarred,

Some shepherds bleed where others lead.

You name a god of coin and stage,

But paint all lamps with one dark brush.

Yet many burn in quiet rooms,

Their oil not fame, their fire not hush.

There are men who break the bread

Before they dare to break a word,

Who tremble first before their God

Long before a crowd has heard.

Not all who speak of heaven’s hope

Are merchants trading prayer for gold.

Some bury sons, some bury dreams,

Some preach because they were first consoled.

You warn of wolves—and rightly so—

For teeth exist where flocks are fed.

But some have laid their lives right down

And chose the cross, not sheep instead.

You say true worship shuns the show;

On this, we stand on common ground.

But do not scorn the lifted voice

Because a crowd is gathered round.

For love may shout, and truth may sing,

And faith may fill a crowded place.

The sin is not the multitude,

But hearts that sell instead of serve in grace.

Judge fruit, not noise; judge scars, not lights;

Judge mercy shown when none could see.

The God of truth is just enough

To weigh each soul individually.

Condemn the lie. Expose the thief.

Rebuke the throne that crowns itself.

But leave some room for faithful men

Who never bowed to godless wealth.

For when the final fire is lit,

Both pulpits bare and prayers concealed,

Not all who stood before the crowd

Will wish their secret lives revealed.

Let truth be sharp, but let it see:

The field is mixed till harvest day.

Not every voice that cries “Beware”

Is free from pride along the way.

So test the spirits. Hold the line.

But temper wrath with righteous sight.

Lest in opposing false-made gods,

We wound the servants walking right.