Tell me, Lord—
when I kneel with an empty heart,
when my lips touch the chalice but the soul stays dry,
is it communion or cannibalism?
The bread breaks,
but no heaven opens.
The wine bleeds,
but no spirit stirs it.
For faith is the fire that transfigures flesh into mystery;
without it, I chew only matter—
the echo of a god I no longer hear.
I lift the cup, recite the words,
but the body remains wheat,
and the blood—just wine.
So tell me, Lord:
when the ritual remains
but belief has fled,
what do I consume—
Your presence,
or my own hunger?
Nov 9, 2025
Nov 9, 2025 at 11:45 AM UTC
Tell me, Lord—
when I kneel with an empty heart,
when my lips touch the chalice but the soul stays dry,
is it communion or cannibalism?
The bread breaks,
but no heaven opens.
The wine bleeds,
but no spirit stirs it.
For faith is the fire that transfigures flesh into mystery;
without it, I chew only matter—
the echo of a god I no longer hear.
I lift the cup, recite the words,
but the body remains wheat,
and the blood—just wine.
So tell me, Lord:
when the ritual remains
but belief has fled,
what do I consume—
Your presence,
or my own hunger?
