Letter to America

Even though you can’t stand my exclusive cries for true freedom; even though you’d rather I show more toleration with my mouth shut; even though you hear my sermons as an assault upon the things you hold sacred; even though you’d haul me to court to make me fall in line; even though your movies typecast me as the blundering hypocritical monster; even though you’d dig in your nails to stop other people from hearing my prayers in the name of a man who died 2,000 years ago; even with all of that, I can’t stop loving you.

Even though you’ve been charmed into believing that the sexual revolution was somehow liberating; even though you’ve given yourself at the altar of instant gratification; even though your body shows the scars of lovers torn from your arms; even though you feel the sting and hot anger over being cast aside and sing those radio songs with grit; even though you cry when no one can see how empty you feel in a roomful of friends; even though you’ve gone numb from rivers of meaningless promises; even with all that, I can’t stop loving you.

Even though you parade through the streets with banners rejecting the ancient chains of a book you detest; even though you throw yourself into the endless revels of the night; even though you churn out words meant to destroy; even though you suck, inhale, inject, consume fire into your veins and visions in your head; even though you scream and rage against the light; even though you hate the very One who longs to make you see; even though you refuse peace inside; even though you discard Truth in your search for meaning; even with all that, I can’t stop loving you.

Even though you defame the boundaries of what God joined together; even though you explore every dark corner of human connections; even though you raise equality as your golden calf; even though you brand those who disagree with spiteful epithets; even though you push the faithful from your midst; even from out there, I can’t stop loving you.

Even though you call the life growing inside nothing more than tissue; even though you reject the divine spark created in your womb; even though you tear out limbs and snip spinal cords; even though you spit on those who fight to save your child; even though you suffer the labor pains of regret for the rest of your life; even then, I can’t stop loving you.

Even though you hate me, I can’t stop loving your sin-soiled skin. I can’t stop loving your blinded eyes. I can’t stop loving your idol-worshiping hands.

He died for you, and that makes you lovely.