Lent — What It Always Wasn’t
Acrostic poem for the season
Leaning on a wooden bench — five-year-old eyes peering up at the priest Entering some form of mystic trance, he sings on and on in Latin Not understanding the words but liking their sound — Telling myself there must be some reason for there being so many of them Sitting still, silently wishing they were all gone, so it was just me and a god I came to see
Mass was never about obedience or belief Endless rituals enforced without understanding Anger at my not wanting to read between the lines Neglecting my questions for I wanted a direct audience with the man — and still do Instead, I stepped back and out of that world and into another Never regretting my choice, nor losing my love for the ancient sounds God is everywhere: In a church, a backyard, a wilderness trail; an empty shed, a broken heart and rueful smile, a hopeful tear. Everywhere but where they say he must be.
I received a prompt from Bob Jasper and though my spiritual leanings are not along the same line as Bob’s, I appreciate anyone’s journey. Mine began in a Catholic church, but continues in a far different place. Different, but in many ways, still the same. Just felt like joining in — perhaps you will as well.
Amy Marley Trista Ainsworth Michele Thill Aurora Eliam, CMP Caroline de Braganza Dipti Pande Harley King R Tsambounieri Talarantas Selma Annelise Lords
