Lesson in Humility

And here comes the offering plate again,

hand to hand

down the pew

from the usher's hand,

a Facebook friend

and nationally competitive Bible-quizzer in his youth,

a son of that Wesleyan strain

traced through Midwest circuit riders

and urban missionaries in the East

through B.T. Robert's devotion

to social justice

and holy concern

for the marginal, the poor, the outcast—

this usher

who could shamelessly recite

Matthew 5:22

without suspecting

it could apply

correction

to himself

(and why would he suspect,

since few here who speak,

these gospel grocers,

pick Jesus' words

over Paul's?)

He sang today

in close-trimmed quartet

Andrae Crouch's triumph song

setting the here

of crying

and dying

against the there

of no more

and very soon seeing.

His joy seems real

though it radiates

from a man who in May

said all who vote against his way

have their heads

firmly and deeply

buried in their rectums,

who in July

advised my nephew to sue

his last two brain cells

for intellectual malpractice

since their position on this or that

opposed his own,

who scoffed

and wrote

lmfao

now in August ushering again,

his place in the heavenly echelon

quite secure,

as secure as his opinion of himself

and his opinion

of God's opinion

of himself.

And as the plate swings by

and the first cold flush

ices my veins

I understand the old temptation

the ancient desire

to seek justice for myself,

call down righteous fire,

show enemies what's what

and who's who

and worship might

like some of those Psalms

that slipped side-long into the canon—

instead

I whisper

to one beyond words,

or none,

the great question mark,

who may or may not hear me

or know me

or bend toward the insignificant speck of our galaxy cluster

with kindness,

who I may or may not

see

soon and very soon

or ever.

Help me

in my weakness

even now

to be better

than I know how

to forgive

my ushering friend

though today he pass the plate with friendly smile

though tomorrow spray me with acidic bile

for he knows not what he does

or who he is

and hasn't gazed into those infinite skies

or felt the prick of ancient photons

in his eyes.

8/14/2012