Monday, November 28, 2011

A Liturgy


   Father, forgive us, your children

   who reduce your words to sound bytes

   and slogans, satisfied to sign checks

   and the bottoms of greeting cards,

   unknowing the names you call us by.


   Father, forgive us, your body

   who demand to see all things now,

   though by choice blind to gifts

   both simple and complex: inhaling,

   exhaling the letters of your name.


   Father, remember us, the forgetful,

   the inexcusably unmindful, who

   pray tight-fisted sealed-eyed prayers

   imploring providence provide the feast already

   before us, though in the presence of our enemies.


   Father, lighten us, your lights

   darkened by too little breath, too much wind

   made heavy with walls and ceilings,

   neither speaking nor listening,

   neither rooted nor cut to burn.


   Father, quicken us, the diseased,

   the dying, the long dead,

   from our own darkened eyes

   and foolish hearts, for muttering never

   to the still returning yes and amen.

   -- Justin Adams 

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