Come to Me

I want to retreat
To shield myself from anyone
Who has not sat in this seat
Who has not kneeled in a pew
And fought the urge
To spit on the floor.

I wonder who all those candles are for
Are they for the living or for the dead?

I hear little of what is said
Except “Come to me in your imperfection.”
An invitation from Christ himself
From thousands of years ago
(They say the offer is still good).

I walk hesitantly forward
(what do I have to lose?)

and submit to the cross drawn on my forehead.

When the priest closes his eyes
after anointing me with this healing oil
I wonder… is he really praying over me?
(and ps how long does this take to work?)

I wanted so much to teach you life is harder
but unmistakably more satisfying
when taken with a healthy dose of skepticism

And the way we make it easier, a bit softer
is through laughter.