Thursday, March 13, 2014

Through Stained Glass

Listen to the sound file
The tangy scent of sweet incense hangs heavily in the air

as I settle into my overstuffed burgundy seat

with the stained glass in my view- the music of choirs, too

The sweet wine on my lips washing over

the bread crumbs still lodged in my teeth

is nothing if not pure water for love to grow taller

until by tiptoes it can peek over

the fences built by mankind

when their tower was taken away, and they

learned the language of hate

and how to make locks

to fasten narrow gates that come with secret codes

you can only know if you keep the right people sated

Better watch your step- the pavement is rough

and every woman a stumbling block don’t you know,

but you can still go to your Father’s house if you’re silent

as a mouse who knows to make its bed in a hole
in a corner, in the dark,

in a closet,

in an institution of prideful militants

who became the interpreters for us all

Don’t you dare call them out or we might all

fall down in the ashes of wrath

and who 

does not 




  1. As always, you have a way with words that beautifully portray truth. I love this imagery here: "...pure water for love to grow taller..." and you read it beautifully, too.

  2. Thank you. These are hard sayings for me. I feel called to speak out against the exclusion caused by man-made rules, as I see them. Partaking of the sacrament should have some visible effect in our lives, where we actually see our love growing "taller" instead of adding more bricks to our virtual towers of Babel. This is a time where much prayer is needed.

  3. Interesting that you mention "much prayer is needed" because I recently began re-reading Edith Schaeffer's LIFE OF PRAYER. Very timely.

  4. Ah. That's how the Spirit works. So often. It can't be coincidence. :D


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