The Bones of the Church

The church can be seen as made up of bones
Like any other body,
But the bones that make it up, my friend,
Fit together rather oddly.

Now, first we have the “Wish Bones,”
Those bright and shining stars
Who just sit around and wish that things
Were different than they are.

Then there are the “Jaw Bones,”
Those who are always talking
About whatever it is that’s going on,
Be it mundane or shocking.

They continue to “jaw” about this and that,
And do more harm than good;
They grumble, gossip and complain
Instead of living as they should.

Let’s not forget the “Tail Bones,”
Those who are always late;
Late for worship, late for meetings,
Always making others wait.

Those “Tail Bones” take too literally
The words of Jesus Christ, our Lord,
About the first being last and the last being first,
In the pages of God’s Word.


Those “Tail Bones” cannot take a stand
Or Come to a decision;
They want always to “wait upon the Lord,”
Ignoring the Great Commission.

And, oh yes, there are the “Funny Bones,”
Those so easily offended
At some “terrible” thing the preacher said
At the last service they attended.

“If that’s the way he’s going to preach,
I won’t be going back!,”
Those thin-skinned souls are oft heard to say,
And the preacher takes the flak.

But, Thank God there are the “Backbones,”
Those who do the work,
Who teach the classes, call on the sick;
Their duties they don’t shirk.

And if the preacher needs a hand,
Or maybe even two,
The “Back Bones” will be right there to help
When there is work to do.

Yes, let’s thank God for the “Back Bones;”
They’re the pillars of the church
Who take a stand upon God’s Word
And pitch in to do His Work.

    a. franklin staples

    © 1991 by A. Franklin Staples

On Complaining

 
We're mostly a bunch of complainers;
Too often we're not satisfied
With the state of the weather, in general,
Or the passage of time, or the tide.
For if it isn't too hot, why then it's too cold;
It's either too wet or too dry;
Time's going too fast or it's going too slow;
The water's too low or too high.
The music's too loud or else it's too soft;
The singer can't carry a tune;
The preacher's long-winded or his sermon's too short;
It's either too late or too soon.
There's either too much or there's not enough,
Whether it's snow, food, coffee, or tea;
The pillow's too hard or else it's too soft;
Nothing's ever as good as can be.
Yes, to most of us nothing is perfect:
We can always find room for complaint,
But if someone points out our shortcomings,
We can answer right up, "I'm no saint!"
But that's what you are, my dear brother,
If the blood of God's Son you have claimed —
A saint who will one day be perfect,
With nothing wherewith to be blamed.
So why complain now, brother, sister,
About everything under the sun?
Thank God for each day you are given
And live it for Jesus, the Son.
Give thanks for each situation!
Praise God for the good and the bad,
For Jesus Christ died to save you. —
He's the dearest Friend you ever had.
Don't complain about things and don't grumble.
It's advice that I need to take, too,
For God's perfect Son shed His precious blood
That we might be perfected all through.
And someday He'll make all things perfect,
And no one will ever complain
About things over yonder in glory
Where with Him forever we'll reign.

    a. franklin staples
June 26, 1990

                 Copyright © 1990
    by
    A. Franklin Staples