“Write a poem about God or the universe or the horizon of the ocean with longer lines and see what happens.”
You took me to Church, hoping I would feel the same sense of salvation you felt. I felt
but a nagging sense of sleepiness when I heard the voice of the priest drone on and on.
You dragged me to Confession, hoping I would be redeemed for all my sins, but I still did
I didn’t find God in your Church, nor did I find Him in your priests’ sermons, I didn’t find
in the confessional booth. I felt dirty and wrong, confessing all my sins to a white-haired
man who knew nothing of sin or the thrill of wrong-doing.
I didn’t find God in the stained glass or in the candles. I don’t find God in the drone of the
priest or the waggle of the disapproving finger of the nuns. I don’t find God in any of that.
I find God in sunsets, in the way the light hits the tree in my backyard on Monday
I find God in the rainstorms when lightning cracks and thunder roars. I find God in the
person sitting next to me on the bus or the girl who tells the jokes that no one else finds
I found God when I saw the fists and flash of angry eyes as I cowered beneath my
kitchen table. I found God when I found a home in strangers’ kindnesses, strangers
who have become closer than blood.
I found God on the days I least expected to, but I never found God in the stained glass
or in the drone of the priest or inside of a confessional or in the Church you dragged me