To be held,
Oh, God,
By Her,
Is to be home.
The air is sweeter,
The lights are brighter,
And the world outside seems full of potential.
When she holds me,
Oh Lord,
The music comes from the Heavens,
They sing out,
“Allelujah, allelujah,”
And my heart leaps in my chest,
Because in Her embrace,
War is far,
Hate is fiction,
And I am deserving of love.
To be in,
Oh, God,
Your Church,
Is to be home.

Surround us in white light so that we may be your eternal servants of good
Temptation is pervasive as we remember what we should
Intend our curiosity
Empower creativity
Deliver us from evil
so we may live eternally
Amen

I get mad behind the wheel sometimes.
I see ghosts instead of stop signs.
I see tombstones instead of churches.
But once in a blue moon
God sends me a voicemail,
And lets me know
That he's already tucked in the sheets.
That he's already fluffed the pillows.

He woke me up by punching me
I never agreed with his view of the church
He never beat me in a race around the block
I never went with him and Mom on Saturday mornings

He was the best student in mathematics and history
I remember he took such pride in helping me study for tests
He was fascinated by the frescoes outside the Voronet Monastery
I aced an Algebra II the day the ambulance came to our school

He asked me to read poetry when he had trouble sleeping
I held the tubes when he had to throw up
He was remarkably cold the last time we shook hands
I heard the long beep that would not stop, but I could not go inside

He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed  
I was moved by the feckless symphony of medical salvation
He laid there unmoved like monarch butterfly in prayer and
I resolved to visit the frescoes at the Voronet Monastery

On nobility and the grave,
Which bond as fire and flesh,
With no intent to mesh,
Against their match- they misbehave,
And were they each a path to pave,
The first road would refresh,
The other meant to thresh,
Yet man must choose but one to brave,

We ought mind this choice,
It may cast us in our roles,
And shall weigh upon our souls,
But to each is given the same chance,
When we hear His voice-
Will we stay seated, or will we dance?

Another day another crisis
In this world that feels Christless
Full of lives that must be priceless
As they spill out on the concrete
New disaster, a new hurricane
Mass shooting, new Garner, new Freddie Grey
The patriots pledge and turn away
As their own cry, "I can't breathe."

This, our land of the free
Bound by our own iniquity
Where are the hands, where are the feet
Is the church not called to more?
In her mass modern transgression
God's command we made suggestion
That we run towards oppression
And unlock the captive' s door.

Will the Church choose to stand tall
For every  victim of the fall
Show binding love and light to all
And act upon our creed
Or will we simply hide behind
Our pristine pulpits and our pride 
While those for whom Christ Jesus died
We blindly leave to bleed?

|b.g.|