I don’t want my temples cleansed
I know what that means
I don’t want to rock the boat,
Bite the hand that feeds my bloat
I don’t want to make a scene,
Dare to take a stand–
Say out loud that Christ is King,
Pay the price such ’tention brings
I don’t want my temples cleansed
I don’t have the means
I don’t want to wither figs
Move my mountains, much less twigs
I won’t have my wounds be healed
’Gardless how they pain
I don’t want my eyes to see,
Yield my hardened heart to thee
Jesus you just ask too much
See
Spot
Run
Peter, of course, sees himself above such cowardice. But, in the wake of the “triumphal entry” and association teaching, and being able somewhat to put himself in the shoes of others, rather than the “shoes of the fisherman,” he writes a lament for those (supposedly) less stalwart than he.