by Lucy M. Young
She came to us, bright-eyed, vivacious;
Brimming with enthusiasm, joyous and hopeful,
As she faced her life of service to the Lord.
But then what dreadful blasphemy she perpetrated -
The service started a few minutes late!
Oh horrors!
And then, alas, the service of Communion -
Passing bread from hand to hand -
Oh mercy, what a dreadful sin -
Were all hands clean?
The meaning of the service lost completely to a few self-righteous souls.
How many similar atrocities has she committed?
She loves us all just as we are,
But she is only one small voice crying in a wilderness
Of sanctimonious bigots
And weak-kneed doubters floundering in the dark,
Pulled first one way and then another
By the hypocritical and baseless castigations
Of a narrow-minded core of pseudo-Christians.
You who are doing this to her:
What makes you think you are so perfect
That you can sit in judgement of her work?
Who among you is so pure as to be qualified
To cast the first stone?
Whoever you are stand up and be counted.
And let the love and wisdom of our Lord
Judge you justly.
Oh hypocrites!
Instead of picking at the tiny flaws we might find in her,
We should take a clear, unbiased look
At our own closets' skeletons.
If we can do this honestly we'll realize
That we're not capable of judging her.
Let us then be quiet and receptive
As she strives to lead us closer to the Lord.
If we cannot do this it's time to leave the church
And try to find another.
photo by Jarren Simmons
Woodsmoke and Cardamom 