I Guess I Grew Up

 

I Guess I Grew Up

(“Turn both your pockets and your hearts inside out and give generously to the poor; then your lives will be clean, not just your dishes and your hands.” Luke 11:41 [The Message])

I guess I grew up without knowing your culture
celebrated
a bath in a lake or a hot tub just off the sacristy.
I guess it surprised me how loud the applause was
when a poor beggar came up out of the water
(and went home without supper, and went home without bread).
I guess I never questioned why
my annual report demanded how many heads went under the water
and had no fill-in-the-blank for how many mouths were fed.
Don’t get me wrong,
I’m glad for every person added to the roll,
but can’t we, just once, or even from now on,
count the toll it has taken for the forgotten and forsaken
to spend food money on rent, and rent money on diapers,
and diaper money on food, and food money on
nothing left at all.

Don’t tell me BLM is violent until
you dismantle the razor wire around the
enclaves of elite purveyors of happy blessings
and pastoral greed. Don’t tell me
all lives matter
until you disarm the anger that puts
each shade darker than you
at risk. I don’t care how many tithe
checks you have written. Don’t tell me
you love everyone the same
and then complain
that the manicurists speak in Vietnamese
right in front of your pale english face.
Here’s a tip: leave an extra 20
for the ones still learning the language.

I guess I grew up without it getting through
my thick wooden head
that guns and god are on equal footing.
I guess it surprised me how much those
who never take a drink
don’t mind a little anger in the name of
the
Prince of Peace.

But did I digress? I do not think so.
I have digested 100 different tales of
presidents who are muslim,
care bears that are devilish,
teletubbies that are gay,
and the correct way to pronounce
the name of g-d when, I dunno,
there were no tape recorders beside the unburning bush.

What was the last time you looked in on
the disabled pastor
and offered refreshment, a little water,
a little oil, a candle and a quiet whisper that
says
sometimes uncertainty is

All we are allowed.

I guess I grew up.