Part 1

With no thought of shame,
Steeple bells go begging.
Double doors swing open
Exposing great empty halls.
Walls adorned with iconic statues,
Soulful paintings,
Closets stocked with wine,
Candles, and long flowing robes.

With a world of locations from sea crest to forest,
The architects’ prayer upon, wood, stone, and brick
With vast plunging arches and needle point steeples,
A showcase of science, philosophy, art, and belief!

It is said that every Jewish temple
Keeps God hidden behind a curtain.
Has an ark for its scrolls and an ever-lit lantern.

The catholic cathedrals brag of their
Knee worn floors and shoe-scuffed pews,
Their buried Saints, unmoving and unmoved.

Islam has her mosques firmly glued to holy ground.
Four gateways to a geo-spiritual world
Where judges and teachers abound

The modest protestants
Quietly defend their holy space.
With three white-washed crosses in the yard
And a cool banner to parade,
Most would claim they build on solid rock,
Fund raisers, and saving grace.


If truth to be told
It’s pretty much all one and the same,
Every blessed structure
Forever fighting the tides of time,
Shuttering itself against the winds of change.

Yearning for eternity,
They stand,
The theological citadels,
They stand,
Standing for, standing against…

All the while, their proprietors
Boasting openly of
Authenticity and antiquity,
Pointing adamantly to sanctification
Artistically instilled in alabaster apostles,
A sacred word above the seventh door,
Ancient scrolls and artifacts,
Tapestries and intricate mosaic
On walls, windows, and even floors.

Whatever works;
Even if it must remain a secret,
Forever hidden and unspoken,
Whatever works.
Shhhhh
Four walls and a roof,
That’s all that there is to it.
A place of sacrifice, communion, baptism,
A convention center of truths,
A social club, a house of cards…
Four walls and a roof!

And sometimes,
Yes, sometimes they do crumble.
Elaborate cathedral, back-woods chapel,
Reduced to ruins,
Bricks and mortar stitched together
With ivy vines and cat’s claw,
Rain-washed rubble,
Broken ceiling beams,
Scattered shingles,
Shattered stained-glass shards,
Unhinged oak doors,
This and nothing more.

Did God get evicted?
Did He/She know
This would only be a temporary assignment?

I have often wondered why
No one speaks of all the churches
Abandoned and forgotten over time.

Sorry about suburbia,
The consequences of inner-city poverty,
Or the forces of nature and war,
Earthquakes, fires, missiles, mortars,
Tempests, and gravity.

Thus, the demise of another unlucky landmark,
Should I be sad?
They are, after all, cool buildings.
But they have no real soul,
No heart and no blood.
It seems, cement foundations
Will usually be taken for granite.

Shamelessly, people promise us the moon.
But a candy bar is not its wrapper.
A bell chimes, a door opens,
The mystery continues.


Part 2

The followers of all that was,
Everything that is,
All that might have been,
Are all huddled inside for the moment.
Eyes drift unanchored in meditative silence.

Dreamers stream in,
Cast their repentant glances
Across a sea of polished pews.
Resolutely they wade,
Knee deep into this man-made reservoir;
Row upon row,
Swimming in this pristine pool,
Baptized by the ritual itself,
And little more.

Protestant, Moslem, Catholic, Jew,
Persistent in some universal quest for unity.
Human lemmings moving together in mass,
Reacting without thinking.
Ambiguity, the god of all things,
Watches from a vantage point
Somewhere, supposedly, just off and to the right.
He/She
Speaks only in whispers and unknown tongues.
While angelic choirs sing and organs grind,
Raising spirits and making ready for the coming fight.

They, you, us, we drown in the
Visceral, audio and visual distractions;
Thoughts nailed to crosses,
Clouded visions lingering
In incense-wreathed rafters.
The soot of suffering clings
Like dust on plaster statues and bric-a-brac.
Pastoral scenes dissected, reflect on
Stages for plays, for playing, for players.
Blood-stained windows sealed tight
Do little to let in fresh air and new ideas.

Claustrophobia closes in on closed minds.

And so it is, as the sermon urges, ever onward,
Cerebral captives repeat the words verbatim
And get their oral fix of ancient history
Mixed with righteous rhythm and blues.
Relevancy no longer an issue
To folded hands, fingers on beads,
Entranced minds hooked
On shared prayers, burning candles,
And words in pretty little books.

Proselytized practitioners,
Mailmen and lawyers, bankers and prostitutes,
Movie directors, and meat packers,
Lunch ladies, and the man who sells it all…

All sit, then stand, then sit and stand again,
Waiting patiently for absolution.
While clergy, clad in glad trappings
Gleefully usurp the innocence of humanity,
Barking for souls from their carnival pulpits.

Priest and preacher alike,
Dressed in royal purple and virgin white,
Feed like wolves among the sheep.
Speak of laws that must be kept.
Shake that tambourine,
Pass the basket,
Halleluiah and Amen!

Here is the church
Here is the steeple.
Open the doors and see all the people.
The people,
The people,
The people;
The armies of faith
With their familiar names and faces.
An unsettling sameness that shames us all.
As words of resolve reverberate
Like a breath inhaled and exhaled slowly.
Congregations seek solidarity.
It is a crass, dogmatic frenzy.
Selfish souls cry out to their professed deity,
Pleading,
We are your children, the chosen ones!
Make us the victors! Make us the strong!
Give us your blessings forgive us our wrongs!

No one seems to notice that charity and love
Have long since gotten up and left the room.

To fear the foreign tongue,
The shade of skin, the color of eyes.
Using slander and gossip to bring men down.
Why not stones?
Keepers of the kingdom’s keys,
Committees screening
For vile acts and godless blasphemies,
Socialist sympathizers, gay and lesbian freaks,
Pro-choice advocates,
And gutter punks playing in the streets,
These souls must be rejected.
“His will be done!” from The Book they quote.
“It is our moral obligation.
Thrash that nasty husk from the holy wheat!
God has spoken!”


For those who qualify,
The path is straight and narrow.
Don’t steal and never lie,
Or, at least, beg forgiveness before you die.
Put one foot in front of the other,
Marry, have some kids, join the choir,
Bring them all to church on Sunday,
And don’t forget to tithe.

Create a heaven on earth?
Use a certain set of laws?
It’s never quite that simple.
The will of God is tough to know
Will the judgment,
Will the judgment
Will the judgment
Separate the sheep from the goats?


Part 3

Lightening strikes a tree.
It bursts into flame.
Thunder shudders through the air.
Men huddle around a fire at the mouth of a cave.
They whisper in their collective fear.

What could have such a wondrous force?
What could give us this gift of fire?
Is there a name for this unseen thing?
Is this the work of worldly winds
Or is there something somewhere higher?
What else might this unknown bring?
Can we ask for help? Can we voice desire?

In a quantum leap of consciousness and time
Good and evil are reconciled
In punishment and reward, in life and death,
In the wonder of a newborn child.
In the eternal sleep that age begets.

Ageless questions trip our minds.
How can some hearts bear so much misery?
How can the fool lose track of sense?
Might the spirits lend us a healing hand?
What was life really like in the beginning?

Will the answers come from outer space?
Is the spirit of God alive in everything?
Is your god stronger than mine?
Do all Gods deal in righteousness?
Will He/She save us from our own demise?

We build a house of wood or stone
For a power that we can’t see.
We call it God and bring it home,
With a thousand rules to heed.
We hold our totems close to hearts,
To ease our troubled minds.
We pit our faith against man and nature,

Yet,

We still jump -
When lightening strikes!



Michael S. True
5-30-07 last edit
9-3-13