Come and See

Your God is not my God.  Stay with me now, I know this makes your hackles rise, your hands raised in the spiteful fear that you could be challenged. The fear of fraud.

         I know your awe and that bright light of knowing this is your God
                                              but your God is not my God. 

    You worship on your knees, bent in silence and prayer before a chapel altar
                           that was made to make wayward souls like me not falter
                                                    at your God’s feet

                                        “Come see, Lord, come and see”
                             you say, whispers that echo in the cavernous
                                   space, as you repent for your avarice
                                 “Come see how we respect this Creation”
                               “Come and see how we wait for the next Life”

              Whispers and echoes and manmade walls that contain your faith
                                   but my faith does not stay in this place. 

          No, my altar is the trees that keen and bend to the will of the wind
                        and the hymns that blow through their long limbs
                                         my prayers are shouts and calls
                       the screams of joy, the tears of mirth, the songs that blow through the wind are a call up
                                                            to my God

                                        “Come see, Lord, come and see” 
                                        we scream at the top of our lungs 
                              the words ripping themselves off our tongues
                                   “Come see how we love this Creation”
                                    “Come and see how we love this Life”

                            The fresh air sings with our screaming voices and 
                                        the burning fire crackles with our joy
                     your cathartic choir and your hushed tones raise your joy
                                                                   too

                            You know not my altar and I do not know yours
                Polished shoes from mass unbalanced next to bare feet in grass
                                         our eye contact that forever endures
                                    held in the difference between you and I.

                                          And yet we sit at your altar’s feet,
                         your hymns and verses spilling out as we sit together
                                              tied by an invisible tether
                                 because you asked me to come and see.

                                                   And yet outside we fly, 
                            the wind blowing flutes and reeds are we push by
                                               my God’s creations calling me
                                               me calling you to come see.

          You worship in words, my friend, and that does not make you a liar
         I worship in living, my friend, and that does not condemn me to fire.

                                              Say your prayers, my friend,
                                                   And I will say mine
                                              Sing your hymns and I will sing mine
                                                    I will worship by holding another’s hand 
and you will worship by holding your own

                                  and we will go our separate ways one day, 
                                           some time far down the road
                         but I hope when you walk out of that chapel on the hill,
                   You’ll look out at my God’s temple with nothing but goodwill,
                                 the wind will sing to you, the fire will hum,
                 The grass, the flower, the divine bower we used to share will greet
                                           you and maybe you’ll think of me 
                                                   before you go on home.

                                                    And yet we’ll still be friends, even once we no longer come and see
                                                your God who is not my God