Sunday Sermon on Monday

She said she believed something good would happen to me today. Bible in hand, every word drifting to the peninsula of my mind. The TV rattled on as I closed my eyes and said, “Please,” to a God I wasn’t sure I deserved. But, believing is easier than thinking. My skin goes cold, thinking, I wish I didn’t have to think today.  Why does it feel like she’s stealing Jesus away on Monday with a reckless sword wielded while I am trying to pray. 

She says I am deeply loved while I feel no touch. There’s no sensation at all. No  words to reveal the emptiness in a world where religious begging brings fortune and fame, while many have nothing at all. We are to sit in awe and wonder of something grander than ourselves, weak with faith. Who is she talking to if not me. “I’m waiting on you God, I need you to say something. Anything on any other day than Sunday.” I whisper opening my eyes.

There is darkness in the light.

“Say something Lord.” I’m giving up on you. With knowledge faulty and unreliable, I reach out my hand. Her voice raises an aplause. Ignorance is not my choice. I will believe the Sermon of Sunday and know that hell exists in a loneliness wrought with power and choice and “Amen,”. Her preamble to fame. Amen, there are lessons learned in every end. If I play it safe I may not stray too far. Sell me your Sermon on CD for another Monday.

 

 

 

 

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