All those Sundays at the altar,
All that 11:00 a.m. sunlight,
Streaming in through tall church windows,
Congregation backlit by some sort of faith,
Concepts and wise shafts of light,
Steaming words falling on half asleep ears,
Paul's Anglican smile permeating the congregational din,
Shrouds lifted by holy thought and deed,
Veils drawn for a view of divine supper,
Who served the fish stew?
Even if it was thin soup satisfaction was guaranteed,
Blood of Christ,
Body of Christ,
Eat and drink,
For no man shall enter heaven,
Barren of this validating meal,
Dessert was a foregone conclusion,
But not at this supper table,
Wine was liberally drunk,
Apostles preferred wine,
To meat or fish or flesh,
Or bread or the word of life,
All things suffer,
First premise,
Long before the cross,
Epochs before Golgotha,
Suffering was born with first thought,
Thus all things suffer,
Longing for no one suffering,
Longing for more wine,
Not wanting to be a cannibal,
Dining on consecrated flesh,
Perhaps blood is thicker than wine,
Prayers more important than flesh or wine,
Divinity didn't intend cannibals,
All the beasts of the field,
All those birds in the air,
Waking at the divine altar,
Praising God for all this suffering,
Wisdom doesn't come from wine,
Truth can't be digested out of flesh and blood,
Some spectrum seems necessary,
Like joyful singing and happy dancing,
An eternal flame,
So many people on fire,
Self-immolation abounds,
Strike the match,
See us burn,
Such a humiliating conflagration,
Just what did we learn?
What wisdom did those agonizing flames teach us?
Yet every spark,
Igniting our souls,
From light,
Into night,
Into light again,
Eternity clothed in its divine refrain,
Just the same,
All this destructive fire,
All this torrential rain,
So when the sun shines,
We rejoice,
Every voice lilting,
Sweet upon summer's breeze,
All this planetary tilting,
All these prayers whispered by sacred trees.