Place of Worship

Sunday morning on my porch
Is this now my church?
My buttered toast and coffee
The wafer and the wine?
The passing runners
  and dog-walkers
My fellow congregants?
For 50 and more years
My church was brick and stone
Pews filled with believers
Joining voices in hymn and song
Preachers--some good some bad
Bringing the Word
I feel suspended in a space
Unable or unwilling
To participate in worship as usual
I claim my green porchchair
And sit before His Majesty
And wonder if He'll ever
Call me back inside
And if He does
Will I be willing
To leave the birds and trees and coffee
For a wooden pew and wine.

Sunday, July 1, 2011