Church of My Youth
I giggled in every Mass.
Fr. Joe with his hippie hair
cobalt blue sweatpants peeking out
from the bottom of his white alb
his announcement of the bishop's
latest edict or appeal for money to get
the guys through seminary
spoken with a hint of sarcasm.
(He cared about poor people in the West end, not that.)
I was into the music
the choir in the sanctuary strumming
on their guitars, our bodies swaying
singing my heart out, Dad's sweet tenor voice.
The massive wooden cross high
on the wall behind the altar scared me.
Jesus with thorns piercing his scalp, his blood seeping
from a gash in his side, nails in his hands and feet
His serious business of dying for my sins.
What had I done wrong that he had to suffer?
Jesus was my friend who reminded me, "You're okay, kiddo"
When I heard the story about Jesus turning water
into wine at the wedding feast at Cana
I imagined I was there. It was so cool!
Everyone vivacious - a little drunk
filled with the spirit of a resurrection giggle.
Barbara Billey (07 Mar 26)
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