Playing House

I experienced church yesterday,
One close by, one far away,
Another on the ropes
The taste of hope
Unfamiliar on her tongue-
Her praises yet unsung.
Years I practiced trimming wicks
Negotiating the internal matrix
Within solid doors and stained panes
Where we mostly stayed unchanged-
It was a thing we were building,
A room we were crafting, filling,
Delineating structure,
Barricading against rupture.
We struggled against our blindness and pride,
But it was better than being outside.
The last ten years, or more,
Love and grace cracking the door,
I’ve seen it unfurled all around:
Hands clasped, feet on the ground,
And our church is the praise we lift,
The sudden rejoicing at the gift
Of unity in our shared obedience-
Fulfilling, not negating, prior experience-

I used to play at it alone,
Then aside my brothers,
Now I see: it’s not complete
’Til we reach out and share with others.

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