poem | 19 August 2023

I’ve heard it said that people say

they feel closer to God in a forest,

or on a beach –

amidst any scenic ‘scape serene –

than in a church pew

a stale, stuffy church pew

(they forget the offering ever-new)

perhaps some piece of this rings true

The forest whispers immanence

the ocean, vast eternity

peace, when present, draws the veil

and we see as we ought to see

though only ever fleetingly

For nature only whispers

although it longs to sing

the song is sung in stuffy pews

where stale men greet their King

The structure of the liturgy is God’s gift to man:

the timeless condescends

to be bound and found in time

stillness sunders its respite

so we who work may find

not a whisper, but instead

God Himself, Sublime

Who hides because we cannot bear

to look at the Divine