I don't know much theology
The Rector is my source
And he is oh so studied
And helps me keep on course.
The Morning Prayer refreshing
And oft' the bread and wine
And words rehearsed a lifetime
To tend a soul like mine.
I sew and wash bazaar goods
And visit frail shut-ins
And gather toys and children's books
To counter-act my sins.
And Yule and Paschal colours
Adorn our church quite well
For seasons festive, Christ-filled
From age to age to tell.
But much is still a mystery
The saving part, I mean
The bloody rites, and Paul's insights
Somehow cleaner than clean?
And scripture makes me tremble
I hardly pick it up
Once suffered, Confirmation
I'm trusting in the Cup.
It's spiritual they tell me
God's ways above all ours
But we can make it pleasant
With brilliant cards and flowers.
So hopeful that I tally
The sum of pardon's price
But please, someone explain to me
That "finished work" of Christ?
(Hebrews chapters 9 and 10)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great mixture of satire with serious undertones of the darkest hour. Good write. Like those hard working words.