In Comfort Smug

[This past Sunday there was a hard rain during and after Sunday Mass. I was struck by the contrast between God’s wild, unpredictable and sometimes dangerous world, and the safe, predictable rites we have created to worship that God. So I tried, with limited success, to capture that in a sonnet.]

Smart lines of cars in ceaseless rhythm come
In careful rows to park as peals the bell
So many hope to shirk the chains of hell
In prudent pews amid the loud and dumb.

Where priestly man who treads the sacred boards
In surplice, alb and stole directs the show
To altar steps the chosen few who know
To bind their god in sacramented cords.

Rise hymns and pray’rs to build the prison strong
Lest god or goddess ‘spite their rites escape
Then havoc cry as gods of war do rape
In church the sav’d in comfort smug belong.

Outside Her rain in downward torrent pours
Immortal God our drab beliefs abhors.

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