GOD'S HIDING. by contributor Fifi

 

GOD’S HIDING

 

I'm sitting in a pew, thinking how nice the atmosphere is at my church, and wondering why it's so hard to carry good vibes and good intentions forward into the week.  Would the effect be more long-lasting if I attended church daily, like the old Italian ladies in our New York neighborhood used to do?  Maybe I could just move in, be roomies with God.  No doubt the Almighty could get my dog to stop obsessively licking the carpet.

 

Anyway, all these musings turned into a poem.

Get offa my cloud!

 

 

GOD'S HIDING (Sedoka format)

 

God's hiding in church.

He's afraid to go out there.

Even friends act like strangers,

In so-called "real life."

The bus system's confusing,

And He doesn't like the food.

 

It's familiar, church.

He knows what to expect there.

Worshippers, saying He's great.

Inspiring music.

People flowing love and joy

To Him and one another.

 

Differences aside,

They reflect, considering 

Their souls, and the greater good.

Seeking God's counsel,

Lifting their hearts to the Lord,

Suffused with noble intent.

 

Beyond the oak doors,

He doesn't recognize them.

Permanent middle fingers

Out their car windows,

Disregarding marriage vows,

Slack-jawed before glowing screens.

 

He understands pain

And the impulse to escape.

But why won't His people heal?

Sunday ritual

Washes out Saturday sins.

Monday, life's dirty again.

 

It's not His failure,

Though He feels it acutely

And weeps when they've all gone home.

"Jesus Christ!" He says.

Holy Spirit, what the Hell?"

The Sacred Posse kvetches.

 

That good church feeling,

It just doesn't last for me.

But lately -- it's peculiar --

I feel Him around.

Maybe He's decided to

Bring the mountain -- well, you know.