I wrote this hurriedly at the Ad-Lib retreat in Colorado last month -- it's untitled as of yet but it expresses much of the pushing/pulling I feel between the evangelical and liturgical modes of worship.
Sliding into the pew
Slyly lowering the vinyl-padded kneeler,
Then I'm down on my knees
With hands clasped tightly.
My eyes dart repeatedly to the door --
A guilty thing
This prayer is.
I should be doing so many
Other things --
Laundry, dishes, dusting.
But this stolen time
In this hallowed space
In which I don't belong,
In which I shouldn't be
Is freeing
Is seeing
Is being.
My clenched fists pound impotently
Against empty modernity
While my heart eagerly laps up
The silver font of holy water.
My soul caresses the Cross on which He
Hangs, suspended,
Lovingly agonized,
Above me as my tears escape faint control --
My entire being
Desiring, oh desiring
To remain here.
Little thoughts from my mind to yours about living a contemplative life in a far too busy world.
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