A musing on the changing face of the Church from real to plastic

My church
Is a bourgeois Church
with a red plastic cross
hanging high–
I worship with a sigh

A bourgeois church
with lots of red carpet
and plastic flowers
piled high amid theatre curtains
is where I pray, uncertain

A bourgeois church
with its statues and sanctuary
hidden (round corners)
is where I am, and its' altar
has been grown on the tip

So I kneel in the
side chapel with Our Lord
or kneel by the statue, left,
of his mother, (she has been kept),
and pray for the life of the
church

I pray for it to begin in
the home - and flow real,
to the church with wooden crosses,
real flowers and leaves and mosses
and monstrances and
incense

I pray for the inclusion of the
Third world, both outside and
inside
Australia
so we will have a human
heart

I'm not too good on fasting,
but it means our relationship
with our own bodies is free
let me begin
so that I can start with myself
the renewal of the
Church