Communion
I went to worship today in the temple that God built.
I took my seat beneath the vaulted ceiling of branches
where the oak and beech stand undisturbed by the heresy
of the solitary pine in their midst.
I heard the hymns of the chickadee and wren.
In the meadow beyond, butterflies,
like priests in striped and dappled vestments
moved gracefully among the multitudes
offering sacrament to demure Queen Anne's lace
and the aster in her harlotry of purple.
I inhaled the incense of absolution and rebirth,
accepted the blessing of wind on my face.
I find no grace in the confused and angry mutterings of prophets
in their cathedrals of glass and fear
who worship a god so small that he would require me to fight for him.
The language of the God who stretched the hills beneath the lapis sky
is not spoken by any mouth nor written in any book.
My Creator speaks in the droning of the bees and the hiss of summer rain,
His word is written in the drift of a solitary leaf to the still surface of a pond,
and the tracing of hawks wings against the clouds.
He does not love the thorn less than the rose.
My faith rests with the One who speaks in the roar of flood,
not the shouts of the self-righteous.
His terrible beauty is not punishment but simply, motion-
a lesson not in the wages of sin, but in the grace of giving way.
God teaches me strength with the up-thrust of mountains,
persistence through the tiny flower that struggles toward the light
under the dark canopy of trees.
I understand sacrifice through the testimony of the fallen giant
whose body feeds the tiny seedlings of the forest.
I understand eternal love by the whisper of a mother’s breath over newborn head.
Upon the altar where earth meets sky, there is no sin or damnation
only release and renewal.
I took my seat beneath the vaulted ceiling of branches
where the oak and beech stand undisturbed by the heresy
of the solitary pine in their midst.
I heard the hymns of the chickadee and wren.
In the meadow beyond, butterflies,
like priests in striped and dappled vestments
moved gracefully among the multitudes
offering sacrament to demure Queen Anne's lace
and the aster in her harlotry of purple.
I inhaled the incense of absolution and rebirth,
accepted the blessing of wind on my face.
I find no grace in the confused and angry mutterings of prophets
in their cathedrals of glass and fear
who worship a god so small that he would require me to fight for him.
The language of the God who stretched the hills beneath the lapis sky
is not spoken by any mouth nor written in any book.
My Creator speaks in the droning of the bees and the hiss of summer rain,
His word is written in the drift of a solitary leaf to the still surface of a pond,
and the tracing of hawks wings against the clouds.
He does not love the thorn less than the rose.
My faith rests with the One who speaks in the roar of flood,
not the shouts of the self-righteous.
His terrible beauty is not punishment but simply, motion-
a lesson not in the wages of sin, but in the grace of giving way.
God teaches me strength with the up-thrust of mountains,
persistence through the tiny flower that struggles toward the light
under the dark canopy of trees.
I understand sacrifice through the testimony of the fallen giant
whose body feeds the tiny seedlings of the forest.
I understand eternal love by the whisper of a mother’s breath over newborn head.
Upon the altar where earth meets sky, there is no sin or damnation
only release and renewal.
No cathedral constructed of marble and gold
can equal the divinity of the sun-swept meadow that once lay beneath it.
The great and triumphant message of God is the small stubborn grass
that pushes through the cracks in my sidewalk
and whispers this unstoppable truth-
that the works of God will ever find a way to overcome
the conceit of man.
Tracy Meisky is a poet, writer, singer, songwriter and all-around boat rocker from way back. Feel free to look around, but if you break it, you bought it.
I loved this. Great job!
masterpiece
Encompasses all my feelings about communing with God by breathing in Nature. Thank you, Tracy! Was so good to meet you last night.