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.
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