Half a Cup of Jesus

I'd like half a cup of Jesus, please.  Only half a cup.
That's just enough to wash away my sins and give me life.
Just enough to let me sleep at night and figure I'm all right.
Half a cup is about right for what I think I need.
Just enough for heaven later, but not enough to challenge me,
Not enough to slow me down or puncture my self-will.

I like Jesus to be my friend and helper and give me what I need,
Perhaps that health-and-wealth idea and maybe whiter teeth.
It's handy thinking he loves me and gives me life forever,
I just don't want to think about him interfering with life now.
If I had more of Jesus I'm afraid my life would change,
I might have to give up habits that are so comforting to me,
And be more generous and kind, and maybe forgive my spouse.
I'd have to read my Bible, or volunteer at church,
Or try to help the homeless or the poor out of the lurch.

If I had more than half a cup of Jesus, I'm afraid
I might be pressed to talk to friends about my faith.
I might be tempted to go on mission trips or even across town
And give up my vacation to build a house for someone else.
I might have to stop watching some TV, or stop my drinking then,
Or speak more kindly to my spouse or help the neighbor kids.

No, half a cup is just the thing -- half a cup, no more.
I don't want people thinking I'm one of those Jesus freaks
That actually believes he loves my neighbor, and so should I.
I might get funny looks or lose my reputation
By telling people Jesus died to save them, and every nation.

Half a cup of Jesus is all that I can manage.
In fact a quarter-cup might be more like it; do you want the rest of mine?