COMMUNION OF SAINTS

I want to know the god

my own unbelieving self can believe in.

The one who sides with justice,

because there is no other side to take.

Who doesn’t fit in holy books,

because she is bigger than the bigots reciting them.

Bigger than ordained priests

praying over bread and wine

that will never reach the hungry,

when we all agree

feeding the hungry

is too sacred an act

to reserve to just one table.

And blessings are not exclusive to brick buildings.

The god I want to know

reminds the priests I want to know

that they are only as big

as the community that lifts them

and this community

is big enough

to hold the hearts of doubters and believers alike

so remind us our value

not our faith

remind us

we are more than churches

sitting on hilltops,

bearing steeples that can pierce the heavens,

because not even heaven

can contain our voices

as they carry the hearts of prophets

like Saint Clare--

and Simone Weil--

and all of the rest of the underrated radicals

fighting to do right in a world that barely registers a wrong.

Or the voices of the oppressed

speaking up loud enough to heard by the hurting,

where one word

can carry more change than any prayer

told silently to god by way of burning candles.

We are more than sinners and saints

more than weekly gatherings in this space

more than rituals

and reminders of how to be holy

we need to do more than

go in peace to love and serve the lord

I would rather we go out

in force to love and serve the homeless and the poor

So I am waiting for that day

when we learn

we, as a communion of saints,

wield enough power

to change every moment into miracles

miracles

my unbelieving self can believe in.