The Day the Churches Died
Tom Viall

I remember the day the churches slipped away,
because they played a game and all looked the same.
Instead of exalting the Name, they looked for fame:
A social society that had lost its piety.

The churches were all torn down,
packed up, and moved out of town.
They wanted to blame it on Eminem,
trying to pretend it wasn't their sin
invested in some self-righteous tradition.
Satan laughed at their ignorant plunge to Perdition.

Satan pulled tight on the reins,
thinking all of Creation to now be his domain,
spreading disease and pain, raising cain,
pouring out his hate like rain, falling, deep-seeding
and leaving a stain.

The day the churches died,
the sinful world celebrated, satisfied,
when they should have cried.
BUT from the hearts of some that deadly grasp was pried
by the power of hope, given from the One who died.

In the midst of chaos, there were a few
who would rebel for the sake of a Carpenter Jew.

It was in that hour, a resurrecting power
exploded into a blossomed flower.
The devious Prince of Destruction could only cower.
And looking down from his lonely tower,
that serpent stood, dumbfounded, as he watched
the eternal principle of hope unleashed on all mankind,
no longer blind,
free to worship, free in mind.

It was in the day the churches died,
a few of the Way became The Church,
defended the land from how Satan had lied,
willing, for their Savior to search.

When that which was leavened became old,
once good, but then corrupted, to Satan its soul was sold;
but this was the chance for revival for those so bold,
who remembered the story the Christians once told.

Perhaps thatís what it takes to begin the fires of revival once again,
to purge this land of corruption and sin.
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