If I were a pastor
I’d speak of fire –
Not the fire of Hell
Or condemnation,
But the fire of creation,
The pure fire of existence,
The inevitable, impossible combustion
Of hand and heart and mind
Upon a waiting, needy world.
But somehow sermons are boring
And pastors speak quietly
Or even loudly
Of words that sit upon a page
Instead of words that stir
And burn
And strengthen
And never fail to leave the world unchanged.
The world is waiting
For a hand that loves it,
A heart that sees it,
And a mind that knows
That life is far more than knowing.
If I were a pastor
I’d dwell in silence
Or song
And do my best
To never betray
The words that came to bring life.
I’d howl
And cry
And thrash like a fool
On that holy ground
Until I found those rare and fierce words
That hold truth like a sacred perpetual flame.
Somehow we know
That words unleashed
Have a power beyond time
And the right word
Is like a storm passing through,
A fire breaking free,
A silence unbound.