Ephesus

To the angel of the church of Ephesus write, To the angel of the church of Ephesus write, I know your works...your labor, your patience, and that you cannot bear those who are evil. And you have tested those who say they are apostles and are not, and have found them liars; and you have persevered and have patience, and have labored for My name's sake and have not become weary. Nevertheless I have this against you:
 That you have left your first love.
I have a friend at college and he really loves people, and by George, they love him right back. He is my social rival. I say this because I look at life like it's some elaborate movie with characters and that's where he fell into place. So I conjure this imaginary competition between us where we attempt to sequester the love of our friends one from the other. And he always wins. But the truth is he couldn't care less, and I think it's heaps of fun.

Somehow summer became, and with it the colors of my home were sucked from township Portrait. But other colours spewed, fell, and leaked into the little province and one of those colors was the summer residence of my social rival. I was in his room and I told him my story. I told him my sickness.

He knew. He knows.

"Do you remember what John the apostle told the church of Ephesus?"

Of course not, I haven't cracked a Bible in months.

But I found out. I read their mail.

Remember therefore from where you have fallen; repent and do the first works, or else I will come to you quickly and remove your lampstand from its place unless you repent.
I want to be good. I try to do good. I try to love people. I try to watch over them. I try to answer their prayers. I try to forgive them. I try to advise them. But I don't have a place to do any of this. I don't have a place for my head under their foot, much less a hand in their heart.

So what? So I did something good one time. People write me poems. Several people. I read a poem recently that was accurate for a change and so did my social rival. We know that underneath a composure that's sickeningly calm there is a broken, lost, confused, sorry (for everything), apathetic, and lonely man.

Call me Ephesus.

Ephesus was the mother church to the others.

I always put the kids to bed before I take up the bottle, and I always sober up before they wake.

We are all connected by the same Roman road. A load of nerved up, pagans puppeting, staggering, and knocking heads in the dark in search for a temple with a little light. I used to feel as if I should pray for people. Now I only feel like they should pray for me. Pray that I will find my first love. That I can believe. That I can love. 

He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes I will give to eat from the tree of life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of God.

Today Ephesus is in ruins, and its church is gone.