Beginning, you are planted with the hassle of park,
Hurry – kids to nursery, favorite pew – enter, pray,
Catch-your-breath, and remember why you stay
Here, in this motley huddle of Christ’s Own Ark:
To front (again) the lure of those despairing dark
Imaginings that, creeping, haunt your days
With the One Word – heard, preached, prayed –
And with Peace passed from hand to anxious heart.
Then, as your gaze glances to the Holiest Place,
Taste at Table that Word (again), heart unfurled
To receive that Living Bread without the haste
Of Time, the Wine of sweet thanksgiving that hurled
Back the gates of hell, as you, a full-grown saint,
Now carry sheaves of praise into the world.