Just in Case

Just in Case

(“But I gave them this command: Obey me, and I will be your God and you will be my people. Walk in obedience to all I command you, that it may go well with you.” Jeremiah 7:23)

The world smiles like a museum with all
the still life behind glass. There’s no point in reading photographs
when the mammoths are all dead or millennia asleep.

The church smells like cinnamon and coffee with
all the saints lined after line. There’s no point in reading liturgy
when we entertain from sanctified stages. I do love theater,
just the same.

All I would truly do, I still make sure I do with a point
upstairs. God is my token, an amulet worn around my neck
to show up in photographs published by amateurs
who take all I say as evidence. All I say as witness.

All I say as elephant gray standing in the way of
my postcard behavior.

Why obey what God didn’t say? And, why, of course,
point His way if there is no certainty at all. But we keep
our candles lit just in case,
hum our hymns, rework the words, to keeps us
comfortable between truth and idols.

I am the worst, I am the first at scraping my knees and
calling it prayer.
I lead the line, my smile the fine wrinkle that I am holy
now, holier than thou, and have led the breadth and depth of
my scorecard behavior.

What if time has run out for my indulgence,
and the next word is the last evidence of my existence?
What if I leave the museum pieces, untie my laces
and share a slice of pie with the unknown injured,
whose face I’ve known for ages.