Say what you will about Hillsong Church’s anti-LGBTQ views and cringe-inducing pastors, but its contributions to the arts, specifically in the art of soul-stirring poetry, simply cannot be dismissed. Hillsong devotee and burgeoning bard Justin Bieber has been bested in verse by his brother in worship, Chris Pratt. Chris posted a poem he “found” on Instagram which not only affirms his political affiliations (he’s writing in God for 2020), it contains a rhyme scheme so intricate and unique, mere mortals are unable to detect it. #RhymesOnlyAngelsCanHear
The poem, titled Ding-Dongs, is a heady meditation on our current political climate and a lament on how far from God all but true centrists have strayed. It’s a poem your aunt who still collects Beanie Babies would send via Facebook Messenger to her entire friends list along with an invitation to play Farmville. Even if Chris didn’t write the poem himself, it clearly moved him enough to share it with his nearly 27 million Instagram followers (it’s a little too long to embroider on a tea towel to hang above the toilet the guest bathroom), so I’d like to give him credit for it all the same. Here’s Chris’ poem.
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Dropping a hot new poem I found. DING-DONGS Ding to the left. Dong to the right. The reverberations swell. Ding dong!Ding dong! They clang the outrage bell. Ding dongs on the far right fringes Squeaking mad like rusty hinges. Ding dongs from the far left squad Fixed on answers outside God. The media plays them like a fiddle Drowning out the healthy middle. Pick your tribe. State your name DISREGARD: WE’RE ALL THE SAME! (Burdened by a sinful heart and hiding in some form of shame.) Change the channel! Don’t be late! Pundits tell you who to hate! Who’s a racist? Who’s a fake? 24 hours of news to break! Skewering truths, spewing sewage, leading mobs of frenzied voices, With two choices, red or blue, And key points to regurgitate. Echo chamber ringing, rips the fabric of society. (Followed by an ad for a pill you pop to stop anxiety.) Get your blood a pumpin’ with some whisper fueled assumption, About someone who wore somethin’ or some singled out opinion among tweeters by the billions “But this one was so outrageous And egregious and alarming!” And you’re angry for the anger in your heart that had been forming Is on the verge of boiling over And you try but are unable Like Chernobyl in your heart the chain reaction is unstable And the blood pressure is higher than the moment just before… And the next commercial thankfully Is a high blood pressure cure. There’s a rhythm to this madness If you take a sec to look One option is unplug Put down your phone pick up a book But the other option probably is more helpful and realistic Find the humor, check the facts, and try to remain optimistic. Ask yourself the question: who profits from my rage? And prevent them from lining up their pockets with that booty. We’re His children despite race, creed, preference or age. Under God we’re indivisible. To stay United is our duty.
Even if you didn’t particularly like it, Josh Brolin thinks it’s “amazing,” so who’s the philistine now? It’s unbelievable that this poem is making the rounds without citation. To think that the T.S. Elliot of our generation is toiling away in obscurity, crafting verses this searing and full of truth, without receiving an ounce of recognition, truly boggles the mind. Somebody worked really hard getting “pumping” to rhyme with “assumption” until God intervened by whispering “drop the ‘g’ my son” into their ear. Now don’t you try to tell me miracles don’t happen in #thesetryingtimes!