Nineveh

THEY are my Nineveh.
What they, you ask?
The they that deserve to be punished.
(At least, according to my metric.)
The they that are wicked and despicable.
The they that are beyond redemption.
The they so horrible and revolting
That not only would I gleefully condemn them
To the headsman's block
But I'd smile while I wielded the blade.

You ask me to speak truth to power;
To let them know of your disapproval.
But I know the God that I serve.
I know your boundless mercy
And have seen the wonders of your unrelenting grace:
Willing to leave the 99 on the hillside,
Bear the weight of the cross,
And welcome thieves into paradise.
THEY don't know, and I'd like it to stay that way.
Otherwise they might have a chance.
They don't deserve that opportunity 
Because they'd never give it
To any of their enemies.

So I've run and become my own Nineveh.
By selfishly refusing to show grace to others
I've cut myself off from the light
And damned myself to wander in darkness.
Spiritual mutually assured destruction:
I hide from God to keep God from using me
To show you what it really means to be forgiven,
And we both wind up worse off than when we started.
Because hate is a poison that kills slow
And there's no guarantee 
The other person will even be affected.

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