I see you.
I see clearly through you.
I see all you want me to see.
I see much you don’t want me to see.
You stand, you rack of dry parched bones.
Sandwiched between to panes of fleshly glass.
You’re a hanger for the big formal robes.
You’re covered in drivel of Political Correctness.
Parishioners sit staring from empty eye sockets.
They sit listening from pre-formed minds.
They hunger for the food of appropriate sin.
They thirst for the word that pampers flesh.
Bits and pieces of dogma and doctrine have been cut and pasted.
Scraps of your holy writ have been glued over His ripped Word.
All eyes in the house are closed so no one sees those who pray The Prayer.
Lies and staging none of which is what the Word says.
Feed the hungry.
Clothe the naked.
Visit those in jails and prisons, why me you ask?
We have committees for that; I wouldn’t know what to do.
Forgiveness; why nobody asked for it?
Forgiveness; that is God’s job they say.
Forgive me as I forgive them, He asked us to say.
Forgiveness ordains my prayer and my communion, He said.
Father which is it?
Is it the Holy Bible?
Is it the Pageantry?
The Spirit is absent Father.
Of course my child, read your Book.
That is but a building, a shrine to community wealth.
That is not the Church my child.
You and He who is in you are the Church.
You’ll find the church on a park bench or in a soup kitchen.
You’ll find the church in a family or a single's home.
You’ll find the church in a mansion or under a bridge.
You’ll find the church on an assembly line or in the Presidential Quarters.
All rightes reserved Johna Moody 7/15/08
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