A poem by Matt Pilgrim

To follow Jesus is to roll up sleeves
Not a calling for the proper and prim.
Future glory the hope of him who leaves
Let’s also go that we may die with Him.

It’s in the dying of self we find life
Each seed that sprouts must first fall and then die
The call is toward, not away from the strife
Join the fray with “love!” as our battlecry

He came from heaven, leaving his throne there
To drink a cup of wrath filled to the brim
Came to find his sheep so his joy they’d share
Let’s also go that we may die with Him.

Is it too much that I’d leave my own throne,
My own temple built of comfort and ease?
To leave the familiar flock that’s my own,
Leave hubris for a short life spent on knees.

He went to the rejected and hated
To everyone for whom hope had grown dim.
To the lost and liars he related
Let’s also go that we may die with Him.

What reward have we to greet only friends?
What gain to hide behind fences instead?
Shall we find out how far this bruised reed bends
When fellow beggars don’t hear of this Bread?

He went to those who shouted “crucify.”
He loved those who would kill on a whim.
To false accusers he did not reply
Let’s also go that we may die with Him.

To follow this Lord means to leave the camp
No glory there but what’s found on a cross.
No use for baskets to cover your lamp
Once you’ve counted all but Jesus as loss.

What else then but to leave nets and obey,
Though the earthly prospects do seem so grim.
We’ll dine at the feast of the Lamb one day
Let’s also go that we may die with Him.