Whose only now is forever

“i am a little church(no great cathedral)

far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities

--i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,

i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;

my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving

(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children

whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing

birth and glory and death and resurrection:

over my sleeping self float flaming symbols

of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church(far from the frantic

world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature

--i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;

i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to

merciful Him Whose only now is forever:

standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence

(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)”

― E.E. Cummings

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true faith is not about

the glimmer and glitter

of wealth, success, and power

it is to be found far from the reverberating

auditoriums of the mega church

and the orange tainted fervor of politicians

who would use it as a pathway to earthly power

there is a place for spires rising

and quiet splendor

for choirs

and stately liturgy

and the deep harmony of an organ

but faith is most at home

in the dirt

in the mysteries of seed and harvest

in the mysteries of birth and grave

in the living and dying

faith is in the finding, losing

laughing, crying

in the daily grind

in the feeble gestures

of the tired soul

who lifts eyes perplexed

up from tasks undone,

to the mountains

and whispers

“why”

“how”

“where”