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
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
my unbelieving self can believe in.