Writing the Sermon

Let’s break this scene up into beats:

A man
A man of God
A man of God busy writing
A man of God busy writing a sermon
A man of God busy writing a sermon that he knows he won’t give.

He stares at his notes on his laptop screen,
Sips his coffee at intervals
But can find no passion to imbue in his words.
He opens a concordance to find perspective
Some words of a theologian from which he might glean
A spark of inspiration –
Divine or otherwise –
So he might avoid simply venting his spleen.

It wasn’t their fault –
He knew that much to be true –
But they expected hallelujahs –
They expected “Holy! Holy!”s
None expected a lowly fill-in speaker
To berate the King of Kings.

Rage was all he had, though.

And why should he not?
The words of his mother from childhood recalled
Ran through his mind in answer:
“You never shall know the extent of your love
Until you watch it die.”

Is that the reason – then – that He did not step in?
A God of love; was he testing the extent to which that was true?
Did watching her die confirm anything for Him?
What about her dad?
What about their kid?
What was proven – what was gained
By tearing asunder that for which two become one
Except for a family left broken and maimed.

It was useless.