GreyParty

This is my rant.

It is in poem form, it is not done yet, but it is true. 100% accurate. I couldn’t make this shit up. I’ve even cut out some of the insanity.

I will finish this one day, polished and hopefully published, but this is where it stands after a few days of weeding out the editorializing and commentary on the part of the speaker (me). This is as close as I can get right now to just stark, non-didactic observation.

The setting: a Reformed church in Wisconsin. White. Trying to be ‘progressive.’ Okay, I’m done.
Enjoy and cringe.

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“oh say, can you see ”

trapped in McCain country on a Sunday morning
the 6th of July. it’s an election year in the Midwest
and the rest of the country i suppose, though here
fireworks blaze for an extra week, like the cross on the lawn
of this church, when decorated for Christmas.
the reverend is traditionally, though ironically, robed
in black. the seasonal green sash around his shoulders
brings out the color of eyes, which close in prayer
as hands raise before god, over the congregation. he begins
with pride in the brave pioneers, mindful of their duty,
their manifest destiny to purify this promised land
like the children of Israel in Canaan, allowing us
to follow their footsteps onto this savage shore –
my eyes snap open in remembrance of  some who came
in shackles, and those who left souls buried beneath
railroads and on tearful trails. i tuned back in on barbwire
swastikas and something about child molesters. he praises
the precious freedoms which stand against radical Islam,
baked bread and diesel fumes – the scents of home –
which triggers thoughts of Margaret awaiting word
on chemotherapy, and the silence of the drums this week
from Jeffery’s absence –the terrible spill which left his children
wondering when they will be able to play with their father.
after the amen i try to concentrate on the sermon,
but become lost in the mountains of Jerusalem
and their significance to our national & economic security,
how the Psalm relates to sheiks in sand or the almighty
dollar replaced by the euro. and then the axis of evil –
abortions, poverty and rap music – the balm for boys
who play games, young black men who only dream
of being musicians and athletes. the sincerity brought tears
to his eyes. he closed with a call for us to take stock of the symbols
of his faith: a body whipped and hung on a tree; an empty tomb;
the white wash of baptism; sitting inside the master’s house,
welcomed to wine at His table. and of course bread. with solemn nods
we were ushered forward for the Eucharist . i almost ran out
of room to take note.

~ MEH
I was trying to find a picture of the guy, but I can’t find the name of the church. . . . blast!