Unidentified WWII Canadian soldiers in a bombed church in Caen, France, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

I go to church,
But it’s really not my church.
I never find peace there,
No matter how hard I try.
I don’t feel the instruments in harmony,
And the vibrations intefere.
I leave as empty as I come.

My church is the church of the world.
I’m in it, but I try not to be like it.
Peace is harder to find,
And yet there is joy in the struggle.
Disharmony is expected,
And yet the waves superpositioned
Create a pleasing dissonance.

I find consolation and understanding.
I find love and generosity mixed with pardon.
I learn there to die to myself.
I find oppurtunity to sow love, faith, and hope
Mixed with joy and light.
Unlike at church
When at times my hands are bound and my tongue is mute.