Love letter to my church

From this pit of frustration    
I cry out    
Will no one join me?    
Does nobody see what I see?    
Such a sweet loving family    
 of navel-gazing sinner/saints    
  imploding into    
   comfortable    
    apathy.    
   
The King has left this building.    
He's out hob-nobbing    
with the desperate --    
 those who are so empty    
  of answers and self    
   that they actually have room to receive love.    
No, not that saccharine-starry love    
 that promises deliverance from this life    
  to a seat in some    
   boring paradisal throne room,    
but a love that really functions    
 in the here and now:    
replacing rejection with embrace,    
judgement with compassion;    
confident and humble enough    
to need no trademark.    
The kind of love that fully appraises    
 our darkest depths    
  and still finds us    
   worthy.    
   
Instead I see us clinging to ghosts,    
afraid of going off-brand;    
When it comes to real change    
or skin in the game,    
Or grace that goes by another name    
We falter, thinking    
 maybe this gritty love isn't quite    
  all it's cracked up to be    
   and our simple comfort is    
good enough.    
   
Well, I'm hungry to chase the deep love,
To go where it leads --    
Even through dark and pain and sacrifice,    
where it blooms brightest.    
But dear family,    
 I shed these tears because    
  I want you to come along    
   without having to be dragged,    
But I can't sell this vision    
And I'm not sure I can carry you.