lately, when I need to pray

I go to the church that

has no doors

and where the walls are

made of carved granite

I sit under its moving roof

on a pew that smells

like fresh pine

and fold my hands quietly

until God joins me ~

here in this most ancient of churches,

I watch a dozen fat rainbow angel dressed

as trout dance in the baptismal font

and wonder out loud:

“when will I too,

be made anew?”

there is a special kind of holy quiet here

that rings much louder than any fat

church bell I have ever known

and the silence often rattled my ribs

it’s choir loft is high up in a birds nest

and it’s confessional is a breeze

that asks me to speak my sins

and I do, and then they are carried away

the longer I sing psalms in this church

the shorter my memory for all of

my past mistakes become

and that is when I hear

the Voice of Love speak:

“oh tired light, oh wounded heart,

oh my child of crumbling grace,

come plant your feet in this Eden,

come rest in this sacred space

oh weary traveler, oh somber fire,

oh shaking heart that is prone to fear,

come lay in My ribboned water

come to fully know that I’m right here

oh wilting daisy, oh dying star

oh broken song that needs a name,

come sit with Me among the wild,

and then you’ll never be the same “

God and I take turns

saying all we need to say

to each other

I speak in short heavy jagged breaths

and the Divine replies in thin long pauses

this goes on until the sun begins to set ~

that’s when it’s time to leave

and even though I go home

I’m always still there

in the antiquated church

of trees and valleys

where foxes are lectors

where horizons are steeples

where clouds are vestibules

where campfires are incense

where time is a gospel

where the great flow is a sacrament

where forests are community

where a little piece of me always still remains

talking to the voice

of whispering Love

as I watch trout be slain in the spirit

and I can’t stop marveling

at the altar of creation

~ john roedel

(another wonderache)