Axiom

A Church Not Church

1216.2012

Not stone—

nor arches pulling me in,

unwilling beneath

the weight of hymns grown fat

on ill-fed words.

No robed gods with wooing tongues,

no political pulpits raised,

no glory kept by one alone.

Let it be built

on the precipice of peace,

without promise to seduce the ego,

and beliefs not bargained with the self.

Let it be a home where I stand

upon this rock—not Peter’s,

but his meaning still,

the seed of his point

before it was named.

Not a place touched

for an hour,

held like breath

then dropped again—

not gestures opening and closing

before dusk.

But a church in the bud,

in the grain,

in the sky’s crown,

a ray of light

flourishing in skin,

in hands that give

without sermon.

A church not church,

but more sacred

in the acts of mankind.

m.c.f.