The pews are full,
All must be well.
And so we sit back and we smile
Complacent in familiar style
of sermon, prayer and song.
The mask I wear
Is everywhere
Mirrored in the faces of those
whose Sunday best will never show
That something might be wrong.
A heart in pain,
A life of shame
A bitter sorrow locked away
A soul gone cold afraid to say
"Extend to me some grace".
If one's not there
We wonder where
And shrug, "Their holiness won't keep"
At least the needs can't go too deep
If everyone's in place.
If "How are you?"
Were only true,
For constant doubt or nagging fear
All this and more lie buried here,
But smiling, we say "Fine."
"The world," it's preached,
Is what we'll reach
While sitting in the pew beside
Someone who is dying inside
With no apparant sign.
If we're to say
Christ is the way
And prove that we've got something more
To others lost outside our doors
It starts before we're sent.
Critique, condemn
And just attend?
Christ said by our love we're defined.
We're sitting in the pews on time.
But is that all He meant?
2 comments:
Wow, this is pretty powerful. Did you write it? Great job if you did! :)
Yes I did. It rolled around a lot in my mind before I got it into words!
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